THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 


THE 
NEW    CARTHAGE 

(La  Nouvelle  Carthage) 


BY 
GEORGES  EEKHOUD 


Translated  with  an  Introduction  by 

LLOYD  R.  MORRIS 

Author  of  "The  Celtic  Dawt,"  "The  Young  Idea^' 
CROWNED  BY  THE  BELGIAN  ACADEMY 


New  York 

DUFPIELD  AND  COMPANY 

1917 


COPYWGHT,  I917,  BY 

DUFFIELD  AND  COMPANY 


To  His  Majesty 

The  King  of  the  Belgians 

This  volume  is  dedicated 

in  profound  homage  by  the 

Translator 


/*.50365 


CONTENTS 
Introduction 

Part  I 
Regina 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    The  Garden 3 

II    The  Stone  Mill       .        .        .        .15 

III  The  Factory 23 

IV  "The  Swiss  Family  Robinson"  .        .  31 

V  The  Drain 45 

VI    The  New  Suit 51 

VII    Hemixem 58 

VIII     In  Society 74 

IX    "TheGina"       .        .        .        .        .93 

X    The  Orangery 104 

Part  II 

Freddy  BiIjard 

I    The  Harbor 119 

II    The  Cap 126 

III  Swarms  and  Wasps'  Nests      .        .131 

IV  The  Cantata 141 

V  The  Election 150 

VI    Troubles 166 

VII     Son-in-Law  and  Father-in-Law    .  176 

VIII     Daelmans-Deynze     ....  187 

IX    The  Stock  Exchange       .        .        .  200 
vii 


Vlll 


CONTENTS 


Part  III 
Laurent  Paridael 

CHAPTER 

I  The  Patrimony 

II  The  Emigrants 

III  The  Riet-Dijk  . 

IV  Contumacy 
V  The  Runners   . 

VI    The  Carnival  . 
VII    The  Cartridge  Plant 


PAdt 

221 

261 
270 
298 
325 

347 


INTRODUCTION 


Georges  Eekhoud  was  born  in  Antwerp  in  1854. 
His  mother  came  of  German  and  Dutch  parentage; 
his  father,  who  came  of  Flemish  stock,  died  m  the 
boy's  eleventh  year.  The  boy  received  his  schooling 
in  Switzerland  and  upon  his  return  to  Belgium  was 
destined  for  the  profession  of  engineering  by  his  uncle 
and  guardian,  but  the  plan  failed  dismally  and  Eek- 
houd  was  sent  to  military  school,  from  which,  after 
some  months,  he  ran  away.  He  was  then  cast  off  by 
his  family,  and  as  the  income  of  his  fathers  estate 
was  insufficient  for  his  needs,  he  turned  to  journalism 
as  a  means  of  earning  a  livelihood.  After  a  time  his 
grandmother,  a  woman  of  some  wealth,  took  him  into 
her  home;  here  he  enjoyed  a  period  of  leisure  and 
study  Upon  her  death  he  inherited  a  comfortable  for- 
tune which  he  invested  in  an  estate  at  Capellen,  to 
the  north  of  Antwerp.  His  subsequent  experience  as 
a  gentleman-farmer,  although  it  was  an  economic  fail- 
ure  provided  him  with  the  opportunity  of  acquiring 


INTRODUCTION 

that  familiarity  with  the  psychology,  the  life  and  the 
customs  of  the  peasantry  which  became  the  essential 
foundation  of  so  much  of  his  art.  In  1881  he  once 
more  had  recourse  to  journalism,  this  time  in  Brus- 
sels, where  he  became  literary  and  musical  critic  of 
UEtoile  Beige.  During  the  period  which  elapsed  be- 
tween his  arrival  in  Brussels  and  the  foundation  of  La 
Jeune  Belgique,  Eekhoud  became  acquainted  with  the 
group  of  men  who  were  striving  to  give  Belgium  a 
contemporary  national  literature.  Chief  among  them 
were  Camille  Lemonnier,  Theodore  Hannon,  Max 
Waller  (Maurice  Warlomont),  the  founder  of  La 
Jeune  Belgique,  and  the  group  of  contributors  to  that 
magazine  who  have  since  achieved  world-wide  recog- 
nition: Maeterlinck,  Verhaeren,  George  Rodenbach 
and  Charles  Van  Lerberghe. 

Before  1880  the  literary  revolt  instituted  by  the 
younger  men  centered  at  the  University  of  Louvain, 
where  the  future  writers,  painters  and  musicians — 
among  the  latter  Jan  Blockx,  the  Flemish  composer, 
and  Van  Dyck,  the  Wagnerian  tenor — were  supposed 
to  be  studying  law,  but  were,  in  reality,  far  more  exer- 
cised over  the  future  of  the  arts  in  Belgium.  The 
movement  was  a  healthy  and  normal  expression  of 
youthful  vigor  accompanied  by  the  publication  of  many 
manifestos,  a  good  deal  of  unconventional  thinking, 
writing  and  talking,  some  humorous  escapades  which 
thoroughly  shocked  the  University  authorities,  and  an 
atmosphere  of  rousing  collegiate  life. 

From  Louvain  the  headquarters  of  the  movement 
were  transferred  to  Brussels.  La  Jeune  Belgique, 
which  under  the  editorial  direction  of  Max  Waller 
had  brought  the  work  of  Verhaeren,  Maeterlinck,  Ro- 
denbach, Van  Lerberghe  and  Eekhoud  to  the  attention 


INTRODUCTON 

of  the  public,  was  charged  with  decadence  by  ^L'Art 
Moderne,  the  organ  of  the  lawyer,  Edmond  Picard. 
To  Waller's  doctrine  of  "Art  for  art's  sake,"  Picard 
opposed  the  ideals  of  an  art  embodying  a  social  con- 
tent, and  preeminently  reflecting  the  Flemish  race  con- 
sciousness as  in  an  earlier  day  it  had  been  reflected 
in  the  paintings  of  the  Flemish  masters.  The  conflict 
over  the  form  and  content  of  Belgian  literature  and 
the  attitude  of  the  Belgian  writer  produced  a  schism 
in  the  movement,  the  writers  of  nationalistic  tendencies 
rallying  to  Picard's  magazine,  while  the  Parnassians, 
as  they  came  to  be  called,  found  a  haven  in  La  Jeune 
Belgique.  In  this  schism  Eekhoud,  with  Maeterlinck 
and  Verhaeren,  gave  his  allegiance  to  the  revolutionary 
and  nationalist  program.  And  that  part  of  the  con- 
temporary literature  of  Belgium  which  is  best  known 
to  the  world  outside  its  native  land  has  been  produced 
neither  by  the  few  inheritors  of  the  Parnassian  tra- 
dition who,  although  living  in  Belgium,  have  written 
as  Frenchmen,  nor  by  the  writers  of  the  Walloon,  nor 
by  the  writers  of  the  Flemish  school  who  have  written 
in  the  Flemish  language,  but  by  those  writers  who 
have  created  a  body  of  literature  which,  in  the  quality 
of  its  spiritual  content  as  a  record  of  racial  experience, 
is  purely  Flemish,  though  writteh  in  French. 


II 


Unlike  many  of  the  other  contributors  to  the  Belgian 
literary  renascence,  Georges  Eekhoud  combines  with  a 
passionate  love  of  his  native  land  a  broadly  cosmopoli- 
tan culture.  His  contact  with  English  literature  has 
been  especially  significant  as  an  influence  upon  his  art. 
Of  the  Victorians,  Dickens  and  De  Quincey  have  pro- 
foundly impressed  him ;  Dickens  because  of  his  humani- 
tarian motive,  De  Quincey  because  of  his  hatred  of 
the  middle  class  and  his  sympathy  with  the  criminal 
and  the  downtrodden.  But  Eekhoud*s  most  effective 
service  to  English  literature  has  been  done  as  an  inter- 
preter and  translator  of  Elizabethan  writers.  His  "Au 
Siecle  le  Shakespeare,"  a  striking  volume  of  criticism, 
has  done  much  to  make  popular  in  Belgium  the  writ- 
ings of  the  Elizabethan  masters.  In  addition  to  this 
book  he  has  published  translations  into  French  of  Beau- 
mont and  Fletcher's  "Philaster"  and  Marlowe's  "Ed- 
ward n."  His  single  original  play,  "Perkin  War- 
beck,"  is  a  tragedy  founded  upon  the  career  of  the 
Flemish  pretender  to  the  throne  of  England ;  and  when 
the  Great  War  beat  down  upon  Belgium  he  was  pre- 
paring for  the  press  a  volume  of  "Etudes  Elisabethi- 


INTRODUCTION 

anes."  As  a  critic  he  has  chosen  to  interpret  that 
period  in  EngHsh  literature  which  gave  expression  to 
a  life  closely  akin  to  that  of  which  his  own  art  is  a 
record. 

To  adequately  understand  the  reaction  to  experi- 
ence of  which  Eekhoud's  novels  and  tales — "Kees 
Doorik/*  "Kermesses,"  "Nouvelles  Kermesses/*  "Cycle 
Patibulaire,"  "Mes  Communions,"  "Escal- Vigor,"  "La 
Faneuse  d' Amour,"  "La  Nouvelle  Carthage,"  and  its 
sequel,  "L' Autre  Vue" — are  the  expression,  we  must 
recall  the  character  of  the  Flemish  mind  as  it  has  found 
expression  in  literature.  The  Walloons,  whose  culture 
is  purely  Gallic,  are  logical,  primarily  intellectual,  mu- 
sical and  scientific.  They  have,  in  letters,  the  French 
respect  for  clearness  of  conception,  for  lucidity  and 
precision  of  expression,  for  purity  of  style  and  for 
intelligent  discrimination.  The  genius  of  the  Flem- 
ings, however,  is  emotional  rather  than  intellectual, 
and  among  its  characteristics  have  been  the  conflicting 
tendencies  of  religious  mysticism  and  an  almost  pagan 
love  of  the  sensual  aspects  of  life.  They  think  pro- 
foundly about  life  less  than  they  feel  strongly  about 
it.  They  are  steeped  in  the  tradition  of  their  glorious 
past,  and  they  are  keenly  aware  of  an  immediate  and 
insistent  present. 

Until  the  middle  of  the  last  century  the  Flemish 
genius  had  achieved  its  fullest  expression  in  painting, 
perhaps  because  even  until  three  years  ago  Flanders 
was  an  essentially  picturesque  country.  When  the 
movement  toward  the  creation  of  a  national  literature 
began  to  assert  itself,  the  younger  writers  derived  the 
method  of  their  art  not  from  a  literary  tradition,  but 
quite  consciously  from  the  tradition  of  Flemish  paint- 
ing.   For  their  inspiration  they  sought  in  the  life  about 


INTRODUCTION 

them,  but  they  sought  with  eyes  that  had  been  taught 
to  see  by  Rembrandt,  Rubens,  Teniers,  Jan  Steen, 
Ruysdael  and  Van  Ostade.  The  qualities  of  mys- 
ticism, sensuality,  love  of  nature  and  of  life,  and  emo- 
tional enthusiasm  were  the  first  to  be  registered  in  the 
art  of  the  Flemish  writers,  and  to  the  service  of  liter- 
ature they  brought  the  sensitive  feeling  for  form  and 
color  and  the  robust  love  of  the  material  world  which 
had  always  been  characteristic  of  the  art  of  their  great 
masters.  Almost  as  compelling  was  the  influence  of 
the  various  French  schools  of  literature;  realism,  es- 
pecially psychological  realism,  and  subsequently  sym- 
bolism, captivated  the  minds  of  the  younger  Flemish 
writers.  Consequently  the  method  of  realism,  which 
they  soon  began  to  apply  to  the  life  of  the  spirit,  pro- 
duced a  literature  that  is  mystic  and  symbolic  in  essen- 
tial direction,  but  which  finds  its  symbols  in  the  life 
about  it,  a  life  in  which  there  is  a  fusion  of  the  roman- 
tic, enigmatic  past  and  the  industrial  present  to  which 
the  character  inherited  from  the  past  is  seeking  to 
adjust  itself.  The  most  important  tendency  in  the 
recent  literature  of  Belgium  is,  however,  the  transfer 
of  the  method  of  painting  to  the  subject  matter  of 
literature;  the  vision  of  the  Belgian  writers  is  the 
vision  of  their  painters,  taking  delight  in  color  and 
form,  wooing  the  four  other  senses  through  its  vivid 
appeal  to  the  eye,  founded  upon  accurate  observation 
and  delicate  perception. 

Georges  Eekhoud  found  in  the  life  of  the  peasantry 
the  subject-matter  for  his  art.  He  is  a  regional  writer, 
and  the  region  which  he  describes  is  the  country  to 
the  north  of  Antwerp ;  the  polders  of  the  Scheldt  and 
the  wastes  of  the  Campine.  The  polders  of  the  Scheldt 
are  rich  plains,  thickly  inhabited  by  a  vigorous  and 


INTRODUCTION 

sturdy  race  of  small  farmers.  The  Campine  is  a  far- 
reaching  and  sandy  waste  that  stretches  over  a  great 
part  of  the  provinces  of  Antwerp  and  Limburg.  Its 
little  towns  are  scattered  and  have  infrequent  com- 
munication with  the  outside  world;  it  is  a  wasted, 
dreary,  forbidding  country  of  cold,  stagnant  pools, 
dull  marshes,  russet  heather  and  tenacious  furze,  and 
a  sky  that  is  by  turns  leaden  and  coppery.  The  peas- 
ants manage  only  with  hardship  to  wreak  a  living 
from  the  sandy  soil;  they  are  brutally  sensual,  ignor- 
ant, superstitious,  fatalistic  and  almost  savage.  It  is 
with  the  life  and  the  customs  of  this  region  that 
Eekhoud's  art  is  chiefly  concerned,  and  his  preoccupa- 
tion finds  its  analogue  in  recent  English  literature  in 
the  novels  and  tales  of  Thomas  Hardy. 


Ill 


In  "The  New  Carthage"  Eekhoud  turned  his  atten- 
tion to  the  Hfe  of  Antwerp.  And  in  order  that  his 
fundamental  intention  in  writing  the  book  may  be 
immediately  apparent,  I  quote  the  following  paragraph 
from  the  body  of  the  novel : 

"To  paint  Antwerp,  its  life,  its  harbor,  its  river,  its 
sailors,  its  dockers,  its  luxuriant  women,  its  rosy  and 
chubby  children  whom  Rubens,  in  other  days,  had 
thought  sufficiently  plastic  and  appetizing  to  populate 
his  heavens  and  Olympuses ;  to  paint  this  human  mob 
in  its  own  ways,  its  costume  and  surroundings,  wfth 
the  most  cherishing  care  for  its  special  customs  and 
morals,  without  neglecting  the  correlations  which  ac- 
centuate and  characterize  it;  to  interpret  the  very  soul 
of  the  city  of  Rubens  with  a  sympathy  bordering  upon 
assimilation — what  a  program  and  what  an  objective !" 

It  is  to  this  conception  that  Eekhoud  adhered  in 
writing  "The  New  Carthage,"  and  the  novel  is  essen- 
tially a  record  of  the  life  of  the  whole  city.  Its  pro- 
tagonist is  Antwerp  itself,  or,  more  definitely,  the 
proletariat  of  Antwerp  as  its  life  is  experienced  by 
Laurent  Paridael.    The  novel  is  largely  autobiographi- 


INTRODUCTION 

cal;  Laurent,  like  Eekhoud  himself,  is  left  an  orphan 
at  the  age  of  eleven  and  committed  to  the  care  of  J^ 
wealthy  uncle,  who,  like  Eekhoud's  uncle,  the  Mayor 
of  Borgerhout,  is  a  manufacturer  of  candles.  But  this 
identification  of  Laurent  with  Eekhoud,  beyond  offer- 
ing us  an  assurance  that  the  novel  is  written  out  of  an 
experience  which  the  author  has  lived,  is  scarcely  of 
major  interest. 

The  fundamental  content  of  the  novel  lies  in  its 
social  feeling.  Being  a  Fleming,  Eekhoud  reasons 
about  life  less  than  he  feels  it.  He  has  a  profound 
sympathy  with  the  poor,  the  weak  and  the  downtrod- 
den. He  denounces  with  bitter  contempt  the  hypocrisy 
of  the  capitalistic  organization  of  industrial  society 
and  the  complacent  philosophy  of  the  bourgeoisie. 
Spiritually,  morally  and  philosophically,  Eekhoud  is  an 
anarchist.  He  distrusts  all  organization  as  setting  an 
arbitrary  limit  upon  life,  as  imposing  its  special  utili- 
tarian categories  upon  the  mass  of  humanity.  He 
challenges  the  cruelty  of  our  contemporary  industrial 
civilization,  and  sternly  bids  us  face  the  facts  of  real- 
ity, however  unlovely  they  may  be.  His  own  reaction 
to  life's  unloveliness  seems,  at  first  sight,  supremely 
discouraging.  If  there  were  no  organization,  he  tells 
us,  there  would  be  no  evil,  since  evil  is  but  a  term 
applied  to  certain  actions  by  an  artificial  society.  More- 
over, since  atavism  is  the  most  potent  force  in  nature, 
civilization  begins  and  ends  in  savagery.  This,  how- 
ever, is  but  one  half  of  his  doctrine.  The  other  is 
contained  in  the  following  passage : 

"And  then,  too,  Antwerp  will  undergo  a  moral  re- 
generation also.  She  will  be  restored  again  to  her  true 
children.  You  will  see  it,  Paridael;  the  oppressed 
masses  are  becoming  insubordinate.    I  tell  you  that  a 


INTRODUCTION 

new  order  will  soon  come  into  being!  A  breath  of 
emancipation  and  youth  has  blown  across  the  mob; 
there  is  something  better  here  than  a  rich  and  proud 
city ;  there  is  a  people  no  less  interesting  who  are  com- 
mencing to  revolt  against  the  representatives  who  serve 
them  badly  and  compromise  them." 

Eekhoud,  like  Whitman,  puts  his  faith  in  humanity 
and  in  an  essentially  spiritual  democracy.  If  he  seems 
to  advocate  anarchy,  we  must  remember  that  this  an- 
archy is  but  a  logical  extension  of  the  democratic  prin- 
ciple. His  vision  of  the  future  is  a  social  order  in 
which  the  masses  will  have  achieved  self-expression. 
Like  that  other  great  Belgian  artist,  Constantin  Meu- 
nier,  he  celebrates  the  modern  beauty  of  labor  and  of 
the  crowd.  With  Meunier  and  with  Verhaeren,  Eek- 
houd has  made  his  art  a  vehicle  for  the  wider  social 
feeling  and  the  plea  for  social  justice  which,  in  these 
days,  is  our  chief  concern. 


IV 


I  have  endeavored,  in  this  translation  of  "La  Nou- 
velle  Carthage,"  to  enable  the  reader  to  obtain  some- 
thing of  the  effect  which  is  produced  by  the  original 
French.  But  Eekhoud,  although  a  great  writer,  is  in 
no  sense  a  stylist.  He  is  controlled  by  his  emotion  and 
by  his  conception,  and  his  prose  is  exuberant  and  often 
rhapsodic ;  in  his  work  we  have  a  clear  case  of  content 
creating  its  own  form. 

It  has  been  necessary  to  delete  one  paragraph  from 
the  chapter  entitled  "The  Runners,'*  and  several  pass- 
ages from  the  chapter  dealing  with  "The  Riet-Dijk." 
These  passages  are  purely  descriptive,  and  to  French 
readers  their  frankness  would  have  its  warrant  in  the 
tradition  of  literary  realism;  in  this  matter  Anglo- 
Saxon  and  Gallic  taste  are  at  variance. 

Lloyd  R.  Morris. 


THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 


PART  I 
REGINA 


THE  GARDEN 

Monsieur  William  Dobouziez  arranged  the  fun- 
eral of  Jacques  Paridael  in  a  manner  deserving  the  ap- 
probation of  his  set,  and  the  admiration  of  modest  folk. 
That  he  was  doing  things  handsomely  could  not  help 
but  be  the  opinion  of  the  crowd.  He  would  not  have 
done  better  for  himself.  A  second  class  service,  but, 
with  the  exception  of  the  undertaker's  assistants,  who 
was  sufficiently  experienced  to  distinguish  the  slight 
shading  of  difference  between  the  first  class  and  the 
second?  A  plain  chant  mass,  but  no  general  absolu- 
tion, for  he  felt  it  useless  to  prolong  a  ceremony  so 
trying  for  those  concerned  and  so  tedious  to  the  indif- 
ferent. So  and  so  many  yards  of  black  mourning 
crape  bordered  with  white,  so  and  so  many  pounds 
of  yellow  wax  candles.  During  his  life  the  late  Pari- 
dael, poor  devil,  had  never  hoped  for  such  obsequies 
as  these. 

Forty-five  years  old,  upright,  but  already  becoming 
grey,  nervous,  dry  and  precise,  the  red  ribbon  in  the 
buttonhole  of  his  tightly  fitting  coat.  Monsieur  William 
Dobouziez  walked  behind  little  Laurent,  his  ward,  the 
only  child  of  the  dead  man,  who  was  plunged  in  an 
acute  and  hysterical  grief. 

3 


'*!  ...        .   .    THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

.  Sjnjce.his  ifather's  death  Laurent  had  not  ceased  cry- 
ing., 'fa  ciiii^rch  he  was  a  pitiable  sight.  The  doleful 
tolling  of  the  great  chimes  and  especially  the  abrupt 
jingling  of  the  choir  bell  produced  little  convulsive 
tremors  throughout  his  body.  This  obvious  affliction 
exasperated  his  cousin  William,  a  former  officer  in 
the  army,  thick  skinned,  an  enemy  to  all  exaggera- 
tion. 

"Come,  come,  Laurent!  For  heaven's  sake  control 
yourself!  Be  sensible!  .  .  .  Stand  up!  ...  Sit 
down!  .  .  .  Come  along,  now!"  he  kept  repeating  in 
a  whisper. 

It  was  of  no  avail.  Every  minute  the  little  boy  com- 
promised the  irreproachable  progress  of  the  ceremony 
by  his  wailing  and  his  trembling.  And  just  when  so 
great  an  honor  was  being  paid  his  father ! 

Before  the  funeral  procession  began  to  leave  the 
church  Monsieur  Dobouziez,  being  a  man  who  thought 
of  everything,  gave  his  ward  a  twenty  franc  coin,  one 
of  five  francs,  and  a  twenty-sou  piece.  The  first  was 
for  the  collection  plate,  the  other  two  for  alms.  But  the 
child,  decidedly  as  awkward  as  he  looked,  became  con- 
fused in  the  division  of  his  offerings  and,  contrary 
to  custom,  gave  the  gold  piece  to  the  representative 
of  the  poor,  five  francs  to  the  churchwarden,  and  the 
twenty-sou  piece  to  the  priest. 

At  the  cemetery  he  barely  escaped  falling  into  the 
grave  when  throwing  the  little  clod  of  yellow,  fetid 
earth  which  sank  with  so  muffled  and  lugubrious  a 
sound. 

Finally,  to  the  great  relief  of  his  guardian,  he  was 
put  into  the  carriage,  and  the  coach  and  two  horses 
rapidly  regained  the  home  and  factory  of  the  Do- 
bouziez', located  in  a  suburb  outside  the  fortifications. 


THE  GARDEN  5 

At  dinner  the  conversation  was  general,  and  the 
family,  without  lingering  over  the  events  of  the  morn- 
ing, accorded  only  an  awkward  attention  to  Laurent, 
who  was  seated  between  his  great-aunt  and  Monsieur 
Dobouziez.  He  addressed  no  word  to  Laurent  except- 
ing to  exhort  him  to  duty,  good  behaviour,  and  com- 
mon sense,  three  words  sufficiently  abstract  to  a  boy 
who  had  barely  received  his  first  communion. 

His  kindly  great-aunt  wished  to  sympathize  more 
tenderly  with  the  orphan's  grief,  but  she  feared  being 
taxed  with  weakness  by  the  master  and  mistress  of  the 
house,  and  doing  him  an  ill  turn  with  them.  She  even 
tried  to  staunch  his  tears  through  fear  that  his  pro- 
longed grief  would  seem  ungrateful  to  the  two  peo- 
ple who,  from  that  time  forth,  were  to  take  the  place 
of  his  father  and  mother.  But,  when  one  is  but  eleven 
years  old,  one  lacks  tact,  and  her  whispered  injunctions 
provoked  only  a  recrudescence  of  tears. 

Through  the  mist  that  veiled  his  eyes,  Laurent,  fear- 
ful and  panting  like  a  hunted  bird,  surreptitiously  ex- 
amined the  group  around  the  table. 

Madame  Dobouziez,  his  cousin  Lydia,  was  enthroned 
directly  across  the  table  from  her  husband.  A  little 
woman,  slightly  bent,  her  skin  was  yellow,  and  shriv- 
elled like  that  of  a  prune.  Her  hair  was  black  and 
shiny  and  dressed  in  thick  coils  that  hid  her  forehead 
and  touched  the  thick,  heavy  eyebrows  that  shaded  her 
eyes,  black  also,  gelatinous  and  almost  popping  out  of 
her  head.  Her  face  was  singularly  inexpressive  in  its 
masculine  features,  thin  and  colorless  lips,  and  flat- 
tened nose  beneath  the  nostrils  of  which  a  little  down 
was  perceptible.  Her  voice  was  harsh  and  guttural, 
bringing  to  mind  the  cry  of  a  guinea  hen.  A  heart  cold 
and  contracted  rather  than  entirely  absent;  she  had 


(5  THE  NEW_  CARTHAGE 

moments  of  kindness,  but  never  of  delicacy,  and  her 
soul  was  narrow  and  constricted. 

William  Dobouziez,  brilliant  captain  of  industry, 
had  married  her  for  her  money.  The  dowry  of  this 
daughter  of  a  retired  Brussels  hosier  served,  after  he 
had  resigned  from  the  army,  to  build  his  factory  and 
become  the  first  stepping-stone  toward  a  rapidly  ac- 
quired fortune. 

Laurent's  eyes  rested  with  more  satisfaction  and 
even  with  a  certain  pleasure  upon  Regina,  or  Gina, 
the  only  child  of  the  Dobouziez',  a  few  years  older 
than  himself,  a  slender,  nervous  brunette  with  expres- 
sive black  eyes,  a  mass  of  curly  hair,  and  a  flawlessly 
oval  face.  The  nostrils  of  her  aquiline  nose  were  sen- 
sitive, her  mouth  was  roguish  and  wilful,  her  chin 
marked  by  a  deHcious  dimple,  and  the  soft  rose  of  her 
coloring  had  the  delicate,  dull  transparence  of  a  cameo. 
Never  before  had  Laurent  seen  so  exquisite  a  little 
girl. 

Nevertheless,  he  did  not  dare  stare  at  her  for  very 
long,  nor  endure  the  fire  of  her  malicious  eyes.  The 
turbulence  of  this  spoiled  and  roguish  child  was  tem- 
pered by  a  little  of  the  solemnity  and  arrogance  of 
cousin  Dobouziez.  And  already  something  disdain- 
ful and  inexpressibly  bantering  puckered  her  innocent 
lips  and  altered  the  tone  of  her  candid  laugh. 

She  dazzled  Laurent,  she  impressed  him  as  being 
a  personage.  And  vaguely,  he  felt  afraid  of  her.  Es- 
pecially since  she  had  looked  at  him  fixedly  two  or 
three  times,  accompanying  her  examination  with  4 
smile  full  of  condescension  and  superiority. 

Conscious  herself  of  the  favorable  effect  that  she 
had  produced  upon  him,  she  became  even  more  rest- 
less and  capricious  than  usual.    She  began  to  intrude 


THE  GARDEN  f 

upon  the  conversation,  and  toyed  with  her  food,  not 
knowing  how  to  attract  attention  to  herself.  Her 
mother  seemed  unable  to  control  her  and,  reluctant  to 
scold  her,  since  that  would  draw  the  minx's  malice 
upon  herself,  she  cast  distressed  glances  at  Dobouziez. 

He  resisted  his  wife's  desperate  appeal  as  long  as  he 
possibly  could.  Finally,  he  interfered.  Gina  yielded 
instantly,  with  an  amusingly  martyred  air,  to  the  kindly 
command  of  her  father.  In  behalf  of  Gina  the  head  of 
the  family  dispensed  with  his  habitual  rigidity.  He 
controlled  himself  with  a  violent  effort  that  he  might 
not  reply  to  the  irritating  sallies  of  his  darling  child ; 
when  he  did  finally  call  her  to  account,  it  was  only  in 
self-defence.  And  the  unaccustomed  sweetness  of  his 
tone  and  of  his  look  recalled  to  Laurent  the  voice  and 
the  smile  of  Jacques  Paridael.  So  much  so  that  Lorki, 
for  that  was  the  name  by  which  his  dear  absent  father 
had  called  him,  could  hardly  believe  that  the  cousin 
Dobouziez  who  was  remonstrating  with  his  little  Gina 
was  the  same  rigid  disciplinarian  who,  at  the  sad  cere- 
mony so  shortly  before,  had  commanded  him  to  do 
this,  and  then  that,  to  do  so  many  things  that  he  had 
not  known  which  to  do  first.  And  in  what  a  brief 
and  peremptory  tone  those  instructions  had  been  ut- 
tered ! 

What  matter ;  though  his  childish  heart  was  breaking 
at  the  comparison,  the  Lorki  of  yesterday,  the  Laurent 
of  to-day  did  not  bear  his  little  cousin  a  grudge  for 
being  the  favorite.  She  was  far  too  beautiful  for  that ! 
But,  had  it  been  a  question  of  some  other  child,  a 
boy  like  himself,  for  example,  the  orphan  would  bit- 
terly have  resented  this  revelation  of  the  extent  of 
his  loss;  he  would  have  experienced  malice  and  hate 
as  well  as  consternation  and  despair.     It  would  have 


8  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

gone  badly  with  the  other  child,  for  the  injustice  of 
his  own  lot  would  have  made  him  rebellious. 

But  Gina  seemed  to  him  one  of  the  radiant  princesses 
or  fairies  of  his  nursery  tales,  and  it  seemed  natural 
that  God  should  be  more  clement  toward  beings  of  so 
superior  an  essence ! 

The  little  fairy  could  control  herself  no  longer. 

"Run  along,  children,  and  play,"  said  her  father, 
making  a  sign  to  Laurent  to  follow  her. 

Gina  led  him  into  the  garden. 

It  was  an  enclosure  as  regularly  laid  out  as  a  peas- 
ant's backyard,  bounded  by  walls  roughcast  with  lime 
upon  which  fruit  trees  were  being  trained.  It  was  a 
kitchen-garden  and  orchard  as  well  as  a  pleasure  gar- 
den ;  as  large  as  a  park,  it  offered  neither  sloping  lawns 
nor  shady  woods. 

It  boasted,  however,  a  single  curiosity,  a  turret  built 
of  red  brick,  its  back  to  a  little  hill,  at  the  foot  of  which 
stagnated  a  tiny  sheet  of  water  serving  as  an  habita- 
tion for  two  pairs  of  ducks.  Winding  paths  converged 
at  the  top  of  the  hillock,  from  which  one  commanded 
a  view  of  the  pond  and  the  garden.  This  bizarre 
structure  was  rather  pompously  known  as  "The  Laby- 
rinth." 

Gina  did  the  honors  to  Laurent.  With  the  air  of  a 
busy  guide  she  showed  him  everything  of  importance. 
She  marched  him  along  with  her  in  a  protecting  man- 
ner. 

"Lookout!    Don't  fall  into  the  water  .  .  .   !" 

"Mama  doesn't  allow  anyone  to  pick  the  raspber- 
ries. . .  .  r 

She  laughed  heartily  at  his  awkwardness.  When 
two  or  three  hardly  elegant  phrases  crept  into  their 
jargon,  she  reproved  him.    Laurent,  who  was  little  of 


THE  GARDEN  9 

a  talker,  became  even  more  taciturn  than  usual.  His 
timidity  increased,  and  he  felt  disgusted  with  himself 
for  appearing  ridiculous  to  Gina. 

That  day  Gina  was  wearing  her  school  dress,  grey 
trimmed  with  blue  silk.  She  described  to  her  com- 
panion, who  never  wearied  of  listening  to  her,  all  the 
peculiarities  of  the  convent  at  Malines.  She  even  re- 
galed him  with  a  few  caricatures,  imitating,  with 
grimaces  and  gestures,  several  of  the  good  sisters. 
The  Reverend  Mother  squinted  and  Sister  Veronica, 
who  took  care  of  the  linens,  spoke  through  her  nose, 
and  Sister  Hubertine  fell  asleep  and  snored  during  the 
evening  study  hour. 

The  chapter  of  infirmities  and  defects  of  her  teach- 
ers having  put  her  in  good  humor,  she  took  delight  in 
embarrassing  her  companion. 

"Is  it  true  that  your  father  was  nothing  but  a  clerk  ? 
Was  there  only  one  little  door  to  your  house?  Why 
did  you  never  come  to  see  us?  We  are  cousins,  eh? 
Funny,  isn't  it  ?  Paridael,  that's  a  Flemish  name,  isn't 
it  ?  You  know  Gaston  and  Anthanasius  Saint-Fardier, 
the  sons  of  my  father's  partner.  Monsieur  Saint-Far- 
dier ?  They  are  two  merry  fellows.  They  ride  horse- 
back, and  they  don't  wear  caps.  They're  not  at  all 
Hke  you.  Papa  told  me  you  looked  like  a  little  peas- 
ant, with  your  red  cheeks,  your  big  teeth,  and  your 
hair  pasted  down  flat.  Who  cut  your  hair  that  way? 
Yes,  father  is  right,  you  look  very  much  like  the  little 
peasants  who  assist  the  priest  at  the  mass  here !" 

She  set  upon  Laurent  with  implacable  malice.  Every 
word  went  straight  to  his  heart.  Blushing  more  than 
ever,  he  forced  himself  to  laugh  as  he  had  at  the  por- 
traits of  the  good  sisters,  and  found  nothing  to  say  in 
reply. 


io  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

He  would  have  liked  to  prove  to  the  little  tease  that 
one  may  wear  a  blouse  puffed  out  like  a  bag,  a  coat  both 
too  long  and  too  wide,  made  to  last  for  two  years,  that 
clung  to  one's  legs  and  made  one  look  knock-kneed,  a 
starched  collar  from  which  emerged  a  face  as  childish 
and  blank  as  that  of  John  the  Baptist  after  his  de- 
capitation, a  cap  with  grotesque  lace  trimming  badly 
concealed  by  a  mourning  band,  buttons  of  jet  and  vel- 
vet, useless  buckles  and  cumbersome  tassels,  that  one 
may,  in  short,  be  dressed  like  a  peasant's  son  and  yet 
not  be  more  silly  and  ungainly  than  a  Gaston  or  Atha- 
nasius  Saint-Fardier ! 

His  good  nurse  Siska  was  not  a  model  tailor,  but  at 
least  she  knew  how  to  make  the  most  of  the  material. 
And  then,  too,  Jacques  Paridael  had  liked  these  clothes 
so  well  upon  his  little  Laurent.  On  the  day  of  his 
first  communion  the  dear  man  had  repeated,  as  he 
embraced  him,  "You  are  as  handsome  as  a  prince, 
my  Lorki !" 

And  even  now  he  was  wearing  that  same  holiday 
suit,  just  as  it  had  been  then,  with  the  exception  of 
the  crape  wound  about  his  cap  and  replacing,  upon 
his  right  arm,  the  glorious  band  of  moire  trimmed  with 
silver. 

The  tease  was  suddenly  seized  with  a  good  impulse. 
While  running  through  the  flower  beds  she  picked  a 
China-aster  with  poppy  colored  petals  and  golden  heart. 

"Here,  Peasant,"  she  cried,  "put  this  flower  in  your 
buttonhole!'* 

She  might  call  him  Peasant  all  she  wanted!  He 
forgave  her  freely.  This  flower  stuck  in  his  black 
blouse  was  the  first  smile  that  illumined  his  grief. 
Even  less  able  to  put  into  words  his  joy  than  he  had 
been  able  to  express  his  bitterness  of  heart,  he  would, 


THE  GARDEN  ll 

had  he  dared,  have  fallen  upon  his  knees  before  the 
little  girl  and  kissed  her  hand,  as  he  had  seen  the 
plumed  knights  do  in  an  old  volume  of  the  "Family 
Magazine'*  that  he  had  read  on  Sunday  afternoons 
in  Winter,  munching  roasted  chestnuts  as  he  turned  the 
pages. 

But  Regina  skipped  to  the  other  end  of  the  garden 
without  waiting  for  Laurent  to  put  his  gratitude  into 
words. 

He  felt  a  pang  of  remorse  at  having  allowed  himself 
to  be  so  quickly  tamed,  and  sullenly  tore  the  gay  flower 
from  his  blouse.  But  instead  of  throwing  it  away, 
he  put  it  tenderly  into  his  pocket.  And,  giving  himself 
up  to  his  loneliness,  he  began  to  think  of  his  home. 
It  was  empty  now,  and  had  been  placed  upon  the  mar- 
ket. His  dog,  good  old  Lion,  had  been  willingly  aban- 
doned to  a  neighbor  who  consented  to  relieve  the  house 
of  death  of  its  presence.  Siska,  having  been  paid  off, 
had  also  left.  Where  was  she  now?  Would  he  ever 
see  her  again?  Lorki  had  not  said  farewell  to  her 
in  the  morning.  He  saw  her  face  as  he  had  seen  it 
in  church,  far  at  the  farther  end,  as  swollen  with  tears 
as  his  own. 

In  leaving,  he  had  had  to  pass  her,  urged  on  by 
Cousin  William,  when  he  would  so  greatly  have  loved 
to  throw  his  arms  about  her  neck.  In  the  carriage,  he 
had  timidly  hazarded  a  single  question. 

"Where  are  we  going  now.  Cousin  William?" 
"To  the  factory,  of  course !  Where  did  you  think  ?" 
So  they  were  not  going  to  return  to  the  house !  The 
little  boy  had  not  insisted ;  he  had  not  even  asked  per- 
mission to  say  farewell  to  his  nurse.  It  was  not  be- 
cause he  had  already  become  hard  and  proud.  He  was 
only  timid,  and  out  of  his  element.    Cousin  William 


12  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

would  have  snubbed  him  had  he  mentioned  so  incon- 
spicuous a  person  as  Siska.  .  .  .   ! 

Tired  of  calling  him,  Gina  decided  to  return  to  the 
dreamer.    She  took  his  arm. 

"You  must  be  deaf.  .  .  .  Come,  I  want  you  to  see 
the  nectarines.  They  are  Mamma's  special  fruit,  and 
Felicite  counts  them  each  morning.  There  are  twelve 
of  them.    Don't  touch  any!" 

She  did  not  notice  that  Laurent  had  removed  the 
flower.  The  little  girl's  indifference  enlivened  the 
Peasant,  though  he  would  have  preferred  her  to  ask 
what  had  become  of  her  present. 

He  tried  to  forget  his  grief,  and  allowed  himself 
to  be  led  about  by  Gina.  They  played  boys*  games. 
To  please  her,  he  tumbled  about,  yelled  like  a  little 
savage,  rolled  on  the  grass  and  in  the  paths,  soiling  his 
good  clothes,  mottling  his  cheeks,  wet  with  perspira- 
tion, tears  and  mud. 

"Oh!     What  a  funny  sight!"  cried  the  little  girl. 

She  dipped  the  corner  of  her  handkerchief  in  the 
pond  and  tried  to  clean  Laurent's  face,  but  she  laughed 
too  much,  and  succeeded  only  in  making  it  even  more 
dirty. 

During  this  operation  there  came  the  squeaking  of 
a  shrill  voice. 

"Madamoiselle,  Monsieur  would  like  you  to  come 
in.  The  guests  are  leaving.  .  .  .  And  you,  come  here ! 
Tomorrow  you  go  back  to  school!  You  have  had 
enough  vacation  as  it  is !" 

But  at  the  sight  of  young  Paridael  Felicite,  the  re- 
doubtable Felicite,  confidential  servant  to  the  family, 
cried  out  as  though  she  had  met  the  devil  himself. 

"Faugh !    You  nasty  child !" 

She  had  called  for  him  at  school  the  night  before, 


THE  GARDEN  13 

and  was  to  take  him  back  again.  Acrid,  grumbling, 
crafty,  flattering  the  pride  of  her  masters  by  copy- 
ing their  faults,  she  had  immediately  divined  the  foot- 
ing upon  which  the  child  was  to  be  treated  by  the  house- 
hold. Cousin  Lydia  had  shifted  to  this  wretched  ser- 
vant the  maintenance  and  supervision  of  the  intruder. 

The  imprudent  child  had  just  provided  Felicite  with 
a  magnificent  debut  in  her  role  of  guardian.  The 
harpy  took  good  care  not  to  neglect  this  windfall. 
She  gave  free  play  to  her  amiable  sentiments. 

Gina,  still  shaking  with  laughter,  abandoned  her 
companion  to  the  taunts  and  scolding  of  the  servant, 
and  entered  the  drawing-room  at  top  speed,  so  anxious 
was  she  to  describe  the  farce  to  her  parents  and  their 
guests. 

Laurent  made  a  movement  to  rejoin  the  little  rogue, 
but  Felicite  did  not  let  him  escape.  She  pushed  him 
toward  the  stairs,  giving  him,  as  she  did  so,  such  a 
description  of  the  dispositions  of  Monsieur  and  Ma- 
dame Dobouziez  toward  little  pigs  like  himself  that, 
wholly  terrified,  he  hastened  to  gain  the  garret  in  which 
he  had  been  lodged,  and  hid  himself  beneath  the  sheets. 

Felicite  had  pinched  and  cuffed  him.  He  had  been 
stoic,  not  uttering  a  sound,  controlling  himself  as  far 
as  possible  before  the  shrew. 

The  stormy  ending  of  the  day  diverted  his  mind 
from  his  grief.  Emotion,  fatigue,  and  the  open  air 
produced  a  heavy  sleep  disturbed  by  dreams  in  which 
contradictory  images  blended  in  a  fantastic  sarabande. 
Armed  with  the  faery  ring,  the  radiantly  laughing  Gina 
conducted  the  dance,  and  alternately  sacrificed  him  to 
and  saved  him  from  the  dark  plots  of  an  old  scorceress 
incarnated  in  Felicite.  In  the  background  the  pale  and 
sweet  shades  of  his  father  and  Siska,  the  dead  and 


14  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

the  absent,  stretched  their  arms  toward  him.  He  threw 
himself  toward  them,  but  Monsieur  Dobouziez  with  an 
ironic  "Stop  it,  young  rascal !"  seized  him  in  full  flight. 
Bells  were  ringing.  He  was  throwing  the  China-aster, 
Gina's  gift,  into  the  collection  plate.  The  flower  fell 
with  a  clink  like  that  of  a  gold-piece,  accompanied  by 
the  sprightly  laugh  of  his  little  cousin,  and  the  sound 
put  to  flight  the  mocking  goblins  and  the  pitying 
shades.  .  .  . 

Such  was  the  initiation  of  Laurent  Paridael  into 
his  new  family  life.  .  .  . 


II 

THE  STONE  MILL 

On  his  second  visit  and  on  those  which  followed, 
when  vacations  sent  him  home  to  his  guardians,  Lau- 
rent found  himself  no  more  acclimated  than  he  had 
been  on  the  first  day.  Each  time  he  seemed  to  fall  in 
upon  them  from  the  moon  and  take  up  space. 

They  did  not  wait  until  he  had  put  down  his  satchel 
to  find  out  the  length  of  his  stay,  and  they  were  more 
anxious  about  the  state  of  his  clothes  than  they  were 
about  himself.  A  welcome  utterly  without  effusion: 
Cousin  Lydia  mechanically  offered  him  her  lemon-like 
cheek,  Gina  appeared  to  have  forgotten  him  since  the 
last  time,  and  as  for  Cousin  William,  he  did  not  ex- 
pect to  be  disturbed  at  his  business  for  so  small  a  mat- 
ter as  the  arrival  of  a  young  rapscaUion  whom  he 
would  see  soon  enough  at  the  next  meal. 

"Ah !  So  there  you  are,  eh  ?  Have  you  been  good  ? 
Have  you  improved  in  your  studies?" 

Always  the  same  questions,  asked  with  an  air  of 
doubt,  never  of  encouragement.  H  Laurent  brought 
home  a  prize  it  was  ever  his  bad  luck  that  it  was  one 
of  those  to  which  Monsieur  Dobouziez  attached  no 
importance. 

At  the  table,  the  round  eyes  of  Cousin  Lydia,  implac- 

^5 


i6  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

ably  levelled  at  him,  seemed  to  reproach  him  for  the 
lusty  appetite  of  his  twelve  years.  Truly,  she  made 
him  let  fall  glasses  from  his  fingers  and  morsels  from 
his  fork.  These  accidents  did  not  always  earn  him  the 
epithet  of  clumsy,  but  his  cousin  could  make  a  con- 
temptuous little  grimace  which  told  her  thoughts  very 
clearly.  And  this  grimace  was  as  nothing  compared 
to  the  bantering  smile  of  the  impeccable  Gina. 

Cousin  William,  whom  it  was  necessary  to  call  sev- 
eral times  before  the  family  took  their  places  at  the 
table,  would  finally  arrive,  his  expression  preoccupied, 
his  mind  upon  a  new  invention,  computing  the  results, 
calculating  the  probable  income  from  one  or  another 
improvement,  his  brain  crammed  with  figures. 

With  his  wife  Monsieur  Dobouziez  talked  shop  and 
she  understood  it  admirably,  and  when  answering  him 
made  use  of  barbarous  technical  words  that  would 
have  proved  a  stumbling  block  to  many  a  man  in  the 
same  business. 

Monsieur  Dobouziez  never  ceased  figuring,  and  re- 
laxed only  to  admire  and  cajole  his  daughter.  More 
and  more  Laurent  came  to  feel  the  absolute  and  almost 
idolatrous  understanding  existing  between  them.  If 
the  man  of  business  became  human  in  troubling  him- 
self about  her,  then,  reciprocally,  Gina  abandoned, 
with  her  father,  her  airs  of  superiority,  her  little  man- 
ner of  conceit  and  detachment.  Monsieur  Dobouziez 
anticipated  her  desires,  satisfied  her  least  caprice,  de- 
fended her  even  against  her  mother.  With  Gina  he, 
the  practical  and  matter-of-fact  man,  amused  himself 
in  futilities. 

On  each  vacation  Laurent  found  his  little  cousin 
more  beautiful  and  more  distant.  Her  parents  had 
withdrawn  her  from  school,  and  able,  worldly  tutors 


THE  STONE  MILL  ly 

were  preparing  her  for  the  destiny  of  an  opulent 
heiress. 

Having  become  too  big  a  girl,  too  much  the  young 
lady  to  amuse  herself  with  the  boy,  she  entertained  or 
visited  friends  of  her  own  age.  The  little  Vanderling 
girls,  daughters  of  the  most  celebrated  lawyer  of  the 
city,  two  blonde  and  lively  little  gossips  were  her  boon 
companions,  in  both  studies  and  pleasures.  And  if, 
by  exception,  lacking  any  other  company,  Gina  so  far 
forgot  herself  as  to  play  with  the  Peasant,  Cousin 
Lydia  immediately  found  a  pretext  for  interrupting 
this  recreation.  She  would  send  Felicite  to  warn 
Mademoiselle  of  the  arrival  of  some  professor,  or  the 
dressmaker  would  be  bringing  a  dress  for  her  to  try  on, 
or  it  would  be  time  for  her  to  practise  upon  the  piano. 
Felicite,  who  had  been  worthily  trained,  usually  antici- 
pated her  mistress's  intentions  and  carried  out  this 
kind  of  mission  with  the  most  laudable  zeal.  Laurent 
had  nothing  to  do  but  to  amuse  himself  as  best  he 
could. 

The  factory  was  becoming  so  prosperous  that  each 
year  new  installations  were  being  made ;  sheds,  work- 
rooms, stores  began  to  encroach  upon  the  gardens  sur- 
rounding the  house.  Laurent  witnessed,  not  without 
regret,  the  disappearance  of  the  Labyrinth  with  its 
tower,  its  pond  and  its  ducks;  that  abomination  had 
become  dear  to  him  because  of  Gina. 

The  house  also  annexed  a  part  of  the  garden.  In 
view  of  the  coming  debiit  of  their  daughter  the  Do- 
bouziez's  were  erecting  a  veritable  palace  containing 
a  suite  of  rooms  decorated  and  furnished  by  the  most 
aristocratic  interior  decorators.  Cousin  William 
seemed  to  preside  over  these  embellishments,  but  he 
always  deferred  to  the  selection  and  the  taste  of  his 


i8  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

daughter.  He  had  already  contrived  for  the  spoiled 
child  a  delicious  little  suite  of  two  rooms,  done  in  blue 
and  silver,  which  would  have  delighted  the  heart  of 
any  lady  of  elegance. 

The  physiognomy  of  young  Paridaers  room  changed 
like  that  of  the  others.  His  mansard  under  the  roofs 
assumed  a  more  and  more  provisional  appearance.  It 
seemed  as  if  a  deliberate  malice  had  presided  over  the 
destiny  of  the  young  collegian's  lodging.  Felicite  had 
cleared  out  only  a  space  sufficient  to  hold  a  folding 
bed. 

The  attic  no  longer  offered  enough  room  in  which 
to  store  away  the  rubbish  accruing  from  the  former 
furnishings  of  the  house,  and,  preferring  not  to  cum- 
ber the  servants'  rooms  with  such  bric-a-brac,  the 
housekeeper  transported  them  to  Laurent's  retreat. 
She  put  so  much  zeal  into  doing  this  that  the  child 
already  foresaw  the  time  when  he  would  have  to  emi- 
grate to  the  stair-landing.  At  heart  he  was  not  dis- 
pleased by  this  investiture.  The  conversion  of  his 
quarters  into  a  place  of  confusion  produced  unforeseen 
and  charming  results.  A  certain  sympathy,  aris- 
ing from  the  similarity  of  their  condition,  was  estab- 
lished between  the  forlorn  orphan  and  the  objects 
which  had  ceased  to  please.  But  that  Laurent  amused 
himself  with  these  old  things  was  sufficient  excuse  for 
the  amiable  factotum  to  remove  them  elsewhere.  To 
conceal  his  treasures  and  secrete  his  finds,  the  young 
rogue  resorted  to  the  ruses  of  a  true  smuggler. 

In  this  garret  were  hoarded  up,  to  the  great  joy 
of  the  refractory  youth,  the  books  condemned  as  too 
frivolous  by  Monsieur  Dobouziez.  Forbidden  fruit, 
like  the  raspberries  and  nectarines  in  the  gardens !  The 
mic^e  had  already  nibbled  powdery  holes  in  them,  an4 


THE  STONE  MILL  19 

Laurent  took  delight  in  what  the  voracious  little  beasts 
had  the  good  grace  to  leave  him  of  this  literature. 
Often  he  became  so  absorbed  in  his  reading  that  he 
forgot  all  precautions.  Walking  on  tip-toe  so  that 
she  might  give  him  no  warning,  Felicite  would  take 
him  by  surprise  in  his  asylum.  If  she  did  not  catch 
him  red-handed  at  the  prohibited  reading,  the  old 
devil  would  perceive  that  he  had  rummaged  over  the 
shelves  and  upset  the  books.  Then  came  a  squall  from 
the  shrew,  and  howls  from  the  punished,  which  ended 
by  exciting  Cousin  Lydia. 

Once  he  was  caught  in  the  act  of  reading  "Paul  and 
Virginia."  "A  bad  book!  You  would  do  better  to  study 
your  arithmetic!"  she  admonished.  And  Monsieur 
Doboiiziez  ratified  the  decree  of  his  better  half  by 
adding  that  the  precocious  scapegrace,  too  great  a 
reader  and  too  much  the  dreamer,  would  never  amount 
to  anything,  would  remain  all  his  life  a  poor  devil  like 
Jacques  Paridael.  A  dreamer!  What  scorn  Cousin 
William  put  into  that  word ! 

On  winter  evenings,  Laurent  rejoiced  in  gaining  his 
dear  attic  as  early  as  he  could.  Downstairs  in  the 
dining-room,  where  they  detained  him  after  dinner, 
he  felt  himself  a  bore  and  a  nuisance.  Why  did  they 
not  send  him  up  to  bed!  If  he  suppressed  a  desire 
to  stretch,  if  he  yawned,  if  he  took  his  eyes  off  the 
school  book  before  the  clock  struck  ten,  the  sacramental 
hour.  Cousin  Lydia  would  roll  her  round  eyes,  and 
Gina  would  bridle,  affecting  to  be  more  wide  awake 
than  ever,  and  chiding  the  boy  for  his  temper. 

Even  during  the  day,  after  some  remonstrance  or 
other,  Laurent  would  run  for  his  refuge  under  the 
roof. 

Deprived   of   his   books,   he  opened   the  skylight, 


20  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

climbed    upon    a    chair,    and    surveyed    the    suburb. 

Low,  red,  suburban  houses  huddled  together  in  com- 
pact blocks.  The  growing  city,  having  broken  through 
its  girdling  ramparts,  had  designs  upon  the  neighbor- 
ing radish  beds.  Streets  had  already  been  planned, 
running  in  a  straight  line  through  the  harvests.  Pave- 
ments bordered  fields  exploited  until  the  last  moment 
by  the  expropriated  peasant.  In  the  midst  of  harvests 
there  emerged,  at  the  top  of  a  stake,  like  a  scarecrow, 
signs  bearing  this  phrase:  ''Building  Plots."  And, 
veritable  scouts,  sentinels  sent  in  advance  by  the  army 
of  urban  construction,  saloons  took  the  corners  of  the 
new  streets,  and  from  the  height  of  their  many-storied, 
ordinary  facades,  new,  but  already  of  a  sordid  aspect, 
surveyed  the  stubble,  cut  short  and  gathered  in  and 
seeming  to  implore  the  clemency  of  the  invaders. 
There  is  nothing  as  suggestive  as  the  meeting  of  the 
country  and  the  city.  They  riot  in  a  real  combat  of 
outposts. 

The  plethoric,  unnatural,  shy  appearance  of  the 
landscape  was  darkened  by  the  embankments  of  the 
fortifications:  crenelated  doors,  sombre  as  tunnels, 
crushed  under  platforms;  walls  pierced  by  loopholes; 
barracks  from  which  plaintive  bugles  replied  to  the 
factory  clock. 

Three  windmills,  straggling  in  the  fields,  turned  in 
full  flight,  playing  their  last  stake  while  waiting  to 
share  the  lot  of  a  fourth,  whose  stone  walls  rose 
pitiably  above  the  scafifolding  against  which  was  rising 
a  tenement  of  workingmen's  hovels,  and  whose  wings 
the  besiegers,  with  the  customary  behaviour  of  the 
rabble,  had  cut  away  like  drunken  bird-catchers. 

Laurent  sympathized  with  the  poor  dismantled  mill 
without  coming  to  detest  the  population  of  the  little 


THE  STONE  MILL  21 

streets  that  hugged  it,  hard-hitters  and  habitual  vaga- 
bonds, heroes  of  many  a  sinister  adventure,  a  tor- 
menting race  which  the  poHce  did  not  always  dare  to 
grapple  with  in  its  own  haunts.  These  "millers  of  the 
stone  mill"  were  among  the  most  sturdy  ruffians  of  the 
city  scum.  The  prowlers  on  the  docks  and  the  fresh 
water  sharks,  better  known  under  the  name  of  "run- 
ners" came  chiefly  from  these  waters. 

But  even  aside  from  this  gang  of  irregulars  and 
criminals,  whom  Laurent  came  in  time  to  know  at 
closer  range,  the  rest  of  this  half-urban,  half-rural  pop- 
ulation, a  hard-working  and  tractable  people,  sufficed 
to  invite  and  preoccupy  the  speculative  child.  Besides, 
the  millers  inevitably  gave  the  neighborhood  its  color; 
they  sprinkled  with  a  vulgar  and  spicy  leaven  these 
fugitives  from  the  villages,  farm  laborers  turned  ma- 
sons and  dockers,  or,  reciprocally,  artisans  turned  mar- 
ket-gardeners, and  work  girls  become  dairy  maids.  By 
scratching  the  bully,  one  could  find  the  cowherd;  the 
butcher's  boy  had  been  a  herdsman.  Strange  mon- 
grels, sullen  and  fanatical  as  in  a  village,  cynics  and 
fault  finders  as  in  the  city,  at  once  surly  and  unre- 
served, truculent  and  lustful,  fundamentally  believers 
and  superficially  blasphemers,  awkward  and  sharp- 
witted,  patriotic,  chauvinistic,  their  hybrid  and  badly 
defined  character,  their  tawny,  muscled  and  sanguine 
complexion  endeared  them,  perhaps  from  that  time 
forth,  to  the  kindred  barbarian,  the  vibrant  and  com- 
plex brute  that  was  Paridael. 

For  a  long  time  these  affinities  smouldered,  vague, 
instinctive,  latent  within  him. 

Standing  upon  his  chair,  the  view  of  the  far  lying 
suburb  beneath  him,  he  saturated  himself  in  his  home- 
sickness and  tore  himself  away  from  his  morbid  con- 


22  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

templation  only  when  he  had  reached  the  point  of  tears. 
And  then,  falHng  to  his  knees  or  rolHng  upon  his  bed, 
he  poured  out  in  a  flood  of  tears  all  the  bitterness  and 
distress  that  had  accumulated  within  him.  And  the 
sprightly  noise  of  the  mills,  clear  and  detached  like 
the  laugh  of  Gina,  and  the  snarling  of  the  factory, 
grumbling  and  disdainful  as  a  rebuff  from  Felicite, 
accompanied  and  stimulated  the  slow  and  full  fall  of 
his  tears,  mild  and  enervating  showers  of  a  weary 
April.  And  this  bantering,  tormenting  lullaby  seemed 
to  repeat :  "More !  .  .  .  More !  .  .  .  More !  .  .  ,  " 


Ill 

THE  FACTORY 

FELICIT1&  ended  by  locking  up  the  hermifs  garret 
during  the  day,  and  sending  him  out  into  the  garden 
to  play.  The  garden  itself  had  been  reduced,  by  one 
encroachment  after  the  other,  to  the  dimensions  of  a 
back-yard.  From  the  windows  of  the  house  the  eyes 
of  the  spy  could  pry  into  its  furthest  corners.  And, 
wearied  by  her  surveillance,  the  boy  made  incursions 
into  the  workshops. 

The  fifteen  hundred  hands  in  the  factory  were  held 
in  check  by  rules  of  a  draconian  severity.  For  the 
least  infraction  there  were  penalties,  salaries  were  held 
up,  dismissals  accorded  against  which  there  was  no 
appeal.  A  strict  justice.  No  actual  iniquity,  but  the 
discipline  was  that  of  a  barracks,  the  code  of  penalties 
was  badly  proportioned  to  the  offenses,  and  the  balance 
invariably  inclined  toward  the  owners. 

Saint-Fardier,  a  stout  man  with  the  head  of  a  comic 
mask,  an  olive  green  skin,  thick  lipped,  with  woolly 
hair  like  that  of  a  quadroon,  scoured  the  factory  upon 
certain  days,  leaving  behind  him  a  trail  of  flame  and 
brimstone.  He  bellowed,  rolled  his  basilisk  eyes, 
shoved  his  way  about,  slammed  doors,  and  bounded 
like  a  ball  of  fire  from  one  room  to  the  next.  Like  a 
waterspout,  he  left  in  his  wake  despair  and  desolation. 

23 


24  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

Penalties  rained  like  grapeshot  upon  the  bewildered 
population.  The  least  peccadillo  entailed  the  discharge 
of  the  best  and  oldest  hand.  Saint-Fardier  showed 
himself  as  abrupt  with  the  foremen  as  with  the  most 
recent  apprentice.  One  would  have  thought  that  if  it 
occurred  to  him  to  measure  his  blows  and  distinguish 
between  his  victims,  he  would  have  preferred  to  smite 
the  oldest  employees,  those  whom  no  punishment  had 
ever  compassed,  and  those  who  had  been  with  the  fac- 
tory since  its  foundation.  The  workers  had  named 
him  "The  Pasha,"  equally  because  of  his  despotism  and 
his  wantoness. 

Dobouziez,  who  w^as  as  self-willed  and  as  arbitrary 
as  his  partner,  was  less  demonstrative  and  more  close- 
mouthed.  He  was  the  judge,  the  other,  the  execu- 
tioner. Dobouziez,  crafty  and  well-bred,  gauged  at  his 
true  value  the  illiterate  and  boorish  partner  whom  a 
rich  marriage  had  put  into  the  possession  of  a  fortune 
equal  to  his  own.  The  mathematician  was  happy  in 
making  use  of  the  man  of  strength,  the  man  whose 
mouth  was  as  scorching  as  that  of  a  furnace,  in  ex- 
tremities repellant  to  his  own  finely  tempered  nature. 

It  was  generally  known  among  the  workers  that  the 
worst  holocausts  among  the  important  employees 
usually  coincided  with  a  decline  in  the  demand  for  the 
manufactured  article  or  an  increase  in  the  price  of 
raw  materials. 

Nevertheless,  Dobouziez  found  it  necessary  to  curb 
the  zeal  of  his  partner,  who,  urged  on  by  a  chronic  af- 
fection of  the  liver,  rioted  in  proscriptions  worthy  of 
a  Marius. 

A  very  shrewd  business  man,  but  none  the  less  clever, 
Dobouziez,  who  permitted  the  exploitation  of  the  pro- 
letariat, disapproved  equally  of  Utopian  schemes  and 


THE  FACTORY  25 

poetic  eccentricities  and  of  useless  brutality  and  com- 
promising cruelty.  He  likened  his  workers  to  beings 
of  an  inferior  race,  to  beasts  of  burden  that  he  worked 
for  his  personal  gain.  He  was  a  frigid  positivist,  a 
perfect  money-making  machine,  without  the  slightest 
inopportune  vibration,  without  any  sentimental  fan- 
cies, never  deviating  by  the  thousandth  part  of  a  sec- 
ond. With  him  nothing  was  unforeseen.  His  con- 
science represented  a  superb  sextant,  a  magnificent  in- 
strument of  precision.  If  he  was  virtuous,  it  was  be- 
cause of  his  dignity  and  his  aversion  to  all  irregularity, 
scandal  and  publicity,  and  also  because  he  had  found 
it  true  of  human  life  that  a  straight  line  is  the  shortest 
distance  between  two  points.  It  was  virtue  of  a  purely 
abstract  order. 

If  he  disapproved  of  the  uproar  of  his  too  hasty 
acolyte,  it  was  in  the  name  of  equilibrium,  of  good 
order,  because  of  his  respect  for  the  proper  alignment, 
for  the  golden  mean,  because  he  wished  to  preserve  ap- 
pearances and  a  nicely  adjusted  symmetry. 

When  he  walked  around  the  factory,  which  he  did 
only  upon  rare  occasions,  as,  for  instance,  when  it  was 
necessary  to  experiment  with  or  apply  some  new  in- 
vention, he  often  found  himself  astonished  at  the  ab- 
sence of  a  face  to  which  he  had  become  accustomed. 

"Hm!"  he  would  say  to  his  partner,  "I  don't  see 
old  Jeff  around  any  more !" 

"Cleared  out!"  replied  Saint-Fardier,  with  a  ges- 
ture as  sharp  as  a  chopper. 

"And  why?"  Dobouziez  objected.  "A  man  who  has 
worked  for  us  for  twenty  years." 

"Peuh!  He  drank.  ...  He  became  careless  and 
negligent.    What?" 

"Really?    And  his  successor?" 


26  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

"A  solid,  healthy  workman  who  draws  only  a  quar- 
ter of  what  that  old  invalid  used  to  cost  us."  And 
Saint-Fardier  winked  maliciously,  noting  a  smile  of 
intelligence  on  the  face  of  his  partner.  But  the  other 
soothsayer  did  not  unbend,  and  without  disapproving 
of  the  discharge,  called  off  the  dogs  with  an  indiffer- 
ent air. 

A  strong  dose  of  philosophy  and  of  patience  was 
required  by  the  workers  in  order  to  endure  without 
contempt  the  haughtiness,  the  scornful  treatment,  the 
rigor,  the  despotism  of  employers  armed  against  them 
with  an  iniquitous  legality. 

And  what  accidents,  infirmities,  deaths  did  not  ag- 
gravate the  lot  of  these  helots! 

Laurent,  who  visited  all  parts  of  the  factory,  who 
followed  the  many  complex  processes  necessary  in  the 
making  of  candles  from  the  treatment  of  the  fetid 
organic  matter,  beef  and  mutton  fats,  from  which  the 
white  and  glossy  stearine  was  separated  with  great 
difficulty,  to  the  packing,  the  casing,  and  the  loading 
of  the  trucks — Laurent  was  not  long  in  attributing  an 
occult  influence,  fatal  and  perverse,  to  this  place  itself, 
to  all  this  apparatus,  to  this  stock  of  tools  to  which 
was  applied  all  the  perfection  of  mechanics  and  the 
most  recent  chemical  discoveries. 

He  went  down  into  the  engine  room,  dodged  about 
the  machine  room,  passed  the  vats  in  which  the  raw 
matter  was  purified  by  being  melted  and  remelted,  and 
came  to  the  presses  where,  refined  of  its  impurities,  it 
was  compressed  in  skins  and  again  solidified. 

Of  all  the  rooms  in  which  the  fats  were  triturated, 
the  one  in  worst  repute  was  that  in  which  they  were 
treated  with  acreoline,  a  colorless  and  volatile  sub- 
stance whose  gases  attacked  the  eyes  of  the  workmen. 


THE  FACTORY  27 

In  vain  they  were  relieved  every  twelve  hours,  and 
from  time  to  time  took  a  respite  in  which  to  neutra- 
lize the  effect  of  the  poison;  in  the  end  the  odious 
essence  frustrated  their  precautions  and  ate  away  their 
eyeballs. 

It  was  as  if  Nature,  the  eternal  sphynx,  furious  at 
having  her  secrets  torn  from  her,  revenged  herself 
upon  the  lowest  auxiliaries  of  the  defeats  inflicted  upon 
her  by  the  scientists. 

More  expeditious  than  the  corrosive  vapors,  but  as 
artful  and  as  silently  inevitable  in  its  effect,  the  dy- 
namic force  masked  itself  and,  not  always  succeeding 
in  gaining  in  a  single  blow  its  revenge  upon  the  men 
whom  it  had  enslaved,  it  lay  in  wait  and  trapped  its 
victims  one  by  one.  Danger  was  not  present  in  the 
spot  where  the  machine,  in  full  activity,  rumbled,  bel- 
lowed and  stamped,  and  shook  the  cage  of  thick  ma- 
sonry in  which  was  plunged,  like  a  giant  buried  alive, 
its  mass  of  steel,  copper  and  cast  iron.  Its  roars  kept 
the  vigilance  of  its  guardians  ever  keen.  And  just 
when  it  was  ready  to  free  itself  from  its  shackles,  to 
burst  forth,  to  shatter  everything  around  it,  the  mon- 
ster would  be  betrayed  by  its  gauge,  and  the  accumu- 
lated steam  would  inoffensively  escape  through  the 
safety  valves.  But  far  away  from  the  generator,  the 
fly-wheel  and  the  cranks,  the  machine  conspired  against 
its  servitors.  Simple  bands  of  leather  detached  them- 
selves from  the  principal  mass  like  the  long  tentacles 
of  an  octopus,  and,  through  holes  let  into  the  walls, 
ran  tributary  machines.  These  endless  bands  wound 
and  unwound  upon  their  reels  with  a  grace  and  a 
smoothness  that  banished  any  idea  of  cruelty  and  as- 
sault. They  moved  so  rapidly  that  they  seemed  im- 
mobile.   And  there  were  even  moments  in  which  they 


28  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

were  no  longer  visible.  They  escaped,  flew  away,  re- 
turned to  their  point  of  departure,  flew  forth  again 
tirelessly,  accomplished  the  same  operation  thousands 
of  times,  making  as  they  revolved  hardly  as  much 
noise  as  the  beating  of  wings  or  the  purr  of  a  wheed- 
ling kitten,  and  in  nearing  them  their  breath  floated 
past  with  a  soft  and  gentle  caress. 

In  the  end,  the  workmen  who  kept  them  in  repair 
and  superintended  them  did  not  suspect  them  of  any 
more  harm  than  the  trainer  suspects  the  apparent  for- 
bearance of  his  felines.  At  intervals  in  the  work  they 
lulled  him  to  sleep  or  induced  him  to  revery  like  the 
murmur  of  water  or  the  nasal  whirr  of  a  spinning 
wheel.  But  velvety  cats  are  panthers  on  the  watch. 
Forever  lying  in  wait,  they  took  advantage  of  his 
drowsiness,  of  a  slight  relaxing  of  his  attention,  of  a 
furtive  heedlessness,  of  a  careless  gesture  in  working, 
of  his  desire  to  lean  back,  to  stretch  and  yawn. 

They  took  advantage  even  of  his  untidiness.  A 
puffed  shirt,  a  loose  blouse,  a  mere  crease  sufficed 
them.  Masters  of  a  tip  of  his  clothing,  the  transmis- 
sion belts,  their  endless  bands  like  prehensile,  sucking 
tentacles,  pulled  at  the  cloth  and,  before  it  could  tear, 
drew  it  toward  them,  sucked  it  in  and  the  poor  fellow 
with  it.  Vainly  he  tried  to  fight  it  off.  Dizziness  over- 
came him.  A  cry  of  horror  strangled  in  his  throat. 
The  torturer  exhausted  upon  him  the  whole  series  of 
obsolete  punishments.  He  was  extended  upon  the  rack, 
torn,  scalped,  mangled,  hacked  to  pieces,  flung  piece 
by  piece  yards  away  like  a  stone  from  a  sling,  or 
squeezed  like  a  lemon  in  the  gearing,  his  blood,  his 
brain  and  his  marrow  were  sprinkled  over  the  excited 
and  helpless  gang  of  laborers.  Most  rarely  did  the 
burnt  offering  get  an  opportunity  to  take  reprisals 


THE  FACTORY  29 

upon  the  drunken  minotaur.  If  he  did  recover,  it 
was  with  one  member  the  less,  an  arm  reduced  to  pulp, 
a  leg  broken  in  twenty  places.  Dead  forever  to  work, 
he  was  a  living  mockery. 

Fall  upon  the  murderer  ?  Shut  off  the  power  ?  The 
man  is  either  mangled  or  killed  before  one  has  time  to 
see  the  unequal  struggle. 

Laurent  absorbed  from  the  worst  instruments  of  tor- 
ture and  the  most  malignant  elixirs  of  the  inquisitors 
the  highly  vaunted  marvels  of  physics  and  industrial 
chemistry ;  he  could  see  only  the  reverse  of  that  pros- 
perous industrialism  of  which  Gina,  from  her  side, 
saw  only  the  radiant  and  brilliant  aspect.  He  dis- 
covered the  lie  innate  in  the  word  Progress  so  con- 
stantly upon  the  lips  of  the  middle  classes,  he  saw  the 
illusion  of  a  society,  claiming  to  be  fraternal  and  demo- 
cratic, founded  upon  a  third  estate  more  rapacious  and 
more  inhuman  than  the  feudal  lords.  And,  from  that 
moment,  a  profound  pity,  an  instinctive  and  absorbing 
affection,  a  sympathy  partly  maternal,  partly  that  of 
a  lover,  seized  him,  a  fundamental  pity  for  these  pa- 
riahs, beginning  with  those  of  his  own  environment, 
the  brave  daily  laborers  of  the  Dobouziez  factory,  who 
belonged  to  the  eccentric  and  interloping  suburban  pro- 
letariat that  swarmed  about  the  Stone  Mill.  He  took 
forever  the  side  of  these  wide-awake,  husky,  well-built 
chaps,  who  worked  with  such  energy,  who  braved  each 
day  sickness,  poisoning,  mutilation,  formidable  tools 
that  turned  against  them,  without  losing  for  an  instant 
their  rude,  free  manner,  their  familiarity,  whose  relish 
excused  its  indecency. 

With  them  the  boy  became  communicative.  When 
he  met  them,  black,  sweaty,  panting,  and  they  doffed 
their  caps  to  him,  he  summoned  enough  courage  to 


3b  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

stop  them  and  ask  questions.  After  the  little  persecu- 
tion of  veiled  hints,  of  irony,  of  reticence,  and  the 
blind  torture  that  he  had  undergone  in  the  drawing- 
room  of  his  guardians,  to  speak  to  them  was  like  in- 
haling brisk  country  air  after  being  in  a  hot-house  of 
forced  plants  whose  perfume  made  him  giddy.  He 
began  to  consider  himself  a  sharer  in  the  destiny  of 
the  lowly.  His  downtrodden  weakness  communed  with 
their  passive  force.  He  conciliated  stokers,  machinists, 
draymen,  laborers.  They  responded  to  the  halting  ad- 
vances made  by  this  repulsed  child,  morally  neglected, 
misunderstood,  severed  from  parental  tenderness, 
whom  the  servants,  scum  of  the  common  people,  pat- 
terning themselves  upon  Felicite,  treated  as  a  burden 
upon  the  establishment. 


IV 

"THE  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBINSON" 

"Were  I  to  live  till  the  end  of  the  world,'*  the  ma- 
chinist, a  former  cavalryman,  said  to  Laurent  while  he 
cleaned,  polished  and  rubbed  down  the  three  hundred 
horsepower  metal  monster,  "I  should  never  forget  that 
scene.  Yes,  sir !  This  jade  here  did  a  pretty  piece  of 
business  that  day!  And  instead  of  grooming  it  as  I 
am  doing  now,  I  am  often  tempted  to  hack  it  into  as 
many  pieces  as  it  made  of  my  pal.  And  he  hadn't 
even  been  drawn,  that  stoker  of  mine!  And  he  was 
so  robust,  so  healthy,  that  they  called  him  the  blond 
'Curly.'  Not  a  blemish  on  his  body.  There  was  a 
conscript  for  you  whom  the  board  of  militia  would  not 
have  discharged!  He  was  so  well  built  that  one  of 
those  gentlemen  from  the  Academy  sculptured  him  in 
white  marble,  like  the  'poses'  in  the  park — idols,  they 
say !  Maybe  that  resemblance  to  the  false  gods  brought 
him  bad  luck !  It  wouldn't  have  made  any  difference 
had  he  walked  around  naked  like  our  first  parents; 
nobody  would  have  been  shocked.  Oh,  well !  It  wasn't 
in  ten,  but  in  a  hundred  pieces  that  he  was  hacked  by 
this  machine.  After  the  pieces  had  been  gathered  to- 
gether with  great  trouble,  it  was  necessary  to  shroud 
them,  and  I  began  with  two  other  good  chaps — I  tell 
you  it  was  necessary — by  swallowing,  one  right  after 

31 


32  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

the  other,  five  glasses  of  pure  gin.  We  rolled  that 
human  chopped  meat,  like  so  much  sausage  meat  into 
sausage  casing,  into  a  half  dozen  linen  sheets  reluct- 
antly sacrificed  by  Mademoiselle  Felicite.  And  six 
sheets  were  not  enough,  for  the  blood  trickled  through 
the  last  one !" 

While  this  tale,  so  evocative  in  its  barbaric  candor, 
was  distressing  young  Laurent,  he  heard  his  name 
called  by  a  great  voice  which  was  trying  to  make  it- 
self small. 

"Hey,  Master  Laurent!  .  .  .  Master  Lorki!" 

Lorki !  He  had  not  been  called  that  since  leaving  his 
father's  house.  He  turned  swiftly,  in  agony,  expect- 
ing to  see  a  ghost  rise  before  him.  And  what  was  his 
joy  in  recognizing  a  stocky,  bronzed  fellow  with  twin- 
kling eyes  and  a  great  curly  beard. 

"Vincent  r*  he  cried,  pale  with  emotion.  "You, 
here!" 

"At  your  service.  Master  Lorki.  But  sit  down.  My 
word!  One  would  say  I'd  scared  you.  I'm  foreman 
of  the  packing-room;  you  know,  the  women's  work- 
shop  " 

This  packing-room  was  the  only  part  of  the  factory 
into  which  Laurent  had  not  yet  adventured.  These 
low  women,  more  brazen,  more  roystering,  less  pa- 
tient than  their  companions,  had  never  ceased  fright- 
ening him.  From  his  bed,  at  night,  Laurent  had  often 
heard  the  clock  strike  the  hour  of  deliverance.  The 
women  were  released  fifteen  minutes  before  the  men. 
Directly  there  arose,  from  the  carters'  door,  the  stamp- 
ing, the  galloping,  the  uproar  of  the  unbridled  fillies. 
Outside,  however,  they  dawdled,  dragging  their  feet. 
The  clock  struck  once  more.  The  men,  in  turn,  packed 
up,  more  heavily,  joking  with  each  other  in  less  sharp 


''THE  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBINSON"      33 

voices.  And  in  a  few  moments  there  arose  from  the 
end  of  the  street  the  confused  clamor  of  badly  treated 
women  and  their  surly  swains.  It  made  Laurent's 
flesh  creep. 

"The  devils,  they're  hurting  them !" 

The  innocent  boy  did  not  yet  understand  the  oaths, 
the  jerky  laughs  that  became  shrill  shrieks.  The  up- 
roar turned  the  corner  of  the  street,  lost  itself  at  the 
bottom  of  blind  alleys,  dispersed,  little  by  little,  in  the 
windings  of  the  courts,  until  the  district  again  fell  into 
dismal  and  secret  silence,  a  party  to  the  gloom,  aus- 
picious for  lurking  and  pairing  off  in  the  glutted,  wan- 
ton night  around  the  Stone  Mill. 

The  next  day,  those  who  had  yelped  and  clamored 
in  a  heart-rending  fashion  appeared  sprightly,  alert, 
even  more  full  of  pranks  than  before ;  and  in  the  halls 
on  the  ground  floor  the  men,  vainglorious  and  pleased 
with  themselves,  jostled  each  other  with  an  air  of  con- 
nivance, winking  to  each  other,  avidly  gabbling. 

To  what  mysterious  conquests  were  they  alluding, 
these  truculent  fellows? 

"What!  You  don't  know  the  packing-room?"  cried 
Vincent  Tilbak.  "It's  the  most  curious  corner  of  the 
factory.  You  must  see  my  crew !  Regular  bees,  they 
are!" 

Tilbak  was  a  sailor,  and  from  the  same  district  as 
Siska. 

Formerly,  after  a  long  voyage,  having  hardly  dis- 
embarked, he  would  make  for  the  house  of  the  Pari- 
daels.  His  clothing  of  coarse  blue  cloth  exhaled  tar, 
seaweed,  brome,  the  salt  water,  and  all  the  fragrance 
of  the  open,  and  from  his  being  emanated  a  perfume 
no  less  virile  and  loyal.  To  assure  himself  of  a  wel- 
come, his  pockets  were  always  full  of  curiosities  from 


34  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

the  ocean  and  the  antipodes;  carnation-colored  shells, 
scented  fruit  for  Laurent,  and  for  Siska  some  mate- 
rial from  the  far  East,  a  Japanese  jewel,  a  cannibal's 
amulet.  Tilbak  told  of  his  adventures,  and  so  great 
was  the  pleasure  that  Laurent  derived  from  these  tales 
that  when  the  teller  had  exhausted  his  repertoire  of 
true  ones,  he  had  to  draw  upon  his  imagination.  And 
woe  to  him  should  he  decide  to  abridge  them,  or  alter 
a  single  detail !  Laurent  did  not  permit  any  variants, 
and  implacably  recalled  the  primitive  version.  Hap- 
pily for  the  willing  rhapsodist,  the  little  tyrant,  in 
spite  of  his  vigilance  and  his  curiosity,  would  fall 
asleep.  Siska  would  then  put  him  to  bed  in  a  little 
room  next  to  the  master's.  And  then  the  two  friends, 
relieved  of  their  beloved  though  occasionally  annoying 
witness,  could  talk  of  other  things  than  shipwrecks, 
whales,  white  bears  and  cannibals. 

One  time  when  they  thought  he  was  fast  asleep,  be- 
fore Siska  had  taken  him  upstairs,  Laurent  half  woke 
up  at  the  sound  of  a  sonorous  kiss  immediately  fol- 
lowed by  a  slap  no  less  generously  administered.  The 
kiss  was  Vincent's  work,  the  blow,  Siska's.  Good  old 
Vincent !  Laurent  inter f  erred  in  the  quarrel  and  recon- 
ciled the  two  friends  before  going  back  to  sleep  for 
good.  At  other  times  Siska  wickedly  chided  the  good- 
natured  fellow  on  account  of  his  acrid  tobacco,  which 
made  her  cough,  she  said,  and  which  smelled  up  the 
whole  house.  One  should  have  seen  the  contrite  and 
appealing  face,  at  once  radiant  and  abashed,  of  this 
"tar-coat,"  as  Siska  called  him. 

And  it  was  this  Vincent,  this  bewitching  Vincent, 
whose  cap  and  loosely  hanging  oilskins,  whose  large 
turned-down  collar  and  high  boots  dazzled  him  to  the 
point  of  making  him  wish  to  become  a  cabin-boy,  that 


''THE  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBINSON''      35 

young  Paridael  saw  again  this  morning,  in  the  prosaic 
costume  of  a  landlubber,  in  the  stifling  factory  of 
Cousin  Dobouziez !    How  did  that  happen  ? 

In  spite  of  his  passion  for  the  "big  pond"  and  for 
dangerous  but  ennobling  adventures  which  banished 
from  him  all  vile  and  narrow  thoughts,  Tilbak  had  re- 
signed himself,  for  love  of  Siska,  to  doff  his  tarry 
brogues,  his  blue  cotton  jersey,  his  oilskin  sou'wester, 
and  to  set  foot  upon  dry  land.  The  friends  had  mar- 
ried. From  their  savings  they  bought  a  little  food- 
shop  for  sailors  in  the  sailors'  quarter.  Siska  ran  the 
shop,  and  Vincent  had  just  taken  the  position  of  fore- 
man with  Monsieur  Doubouziez,  having  been  recom- 
mended by  his  former  captain,  who  had  become  very 
fond  of  his  brave  topman. 

"And  Siska?"  young  Paridael  kept  asking. 

"Prettier  than  ever.  Master  Lorki — Master  Lau- 
rent, I  should  say,  for  you  are  a  man  now.  .  .  .  How 
happy  she  would  be  to  see  you !  No  day  goes  by  that 
she  does  not  talk  about  you  to  me.  During  the  three 
weeks  that  I  have  shipped  here,  she  has  asked  me  at 
least  a  thousand  times  whether  I  hadn't  seen  you, 
whether  I  didn't  know  what  had  become  of  you,  how 
her  Lorki  looked,  for,  by  your  leave,  she  continues  to 
call  you  by  the  name  you  were  called  by  when  your 
late  dear  father  was  alive.  But,  confound  it,  I  did 
not  know  who  would  give  me  any  information.  These 
bourgeois  here — excuse  my  frankness — have  some- 
thing about  them  that  takes  away  any  desire  to  talk 
to  them.  Really,  he  isn't  a  very  comfortable  person, 
that  Captain  Doubouziez!  And  the  other!  A  regu- 
lar old  field  marshal !  But  here  you  are,  anyhow,  so 
tell  me  quickly  what  to  say  to  Siska!  And  when  will 
you  come  to  see  us  ?" 


36  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

And  the  good  fellow,  always  square,  always  frank, 
always  open  hearted  as  he  had  been  in  other  days,  a 
little  more  bearded,  a  trifle  less  burnt,  his  ears  still 
pierced  by  silver  rings,  thought  it  was  his  duty  to  tell 
young  Paridael  how  well  he  looked,  although  the  boy 
no  longer  had  his  former  bright  and  carefree  air.  But 
at  that  minute  the  boy's  joy  at  seeing  Vincent  again 
was  so  great  that  a  transient  gleam  dissipated  the  shad- 
ows of  his  prematurely  thoughtful  expression. 

"I  never  go  out  alone,"  he  answered,  sighing 
deeply.  "My  cousin  thinks  it  wasted  time,  and  that 
visits  would  distract  my  attention  from  my  studies. 
Studies !    That's  all  my  cousin  ever  thinks  about !" 

"True !  Well,  it's  a  pity,"  said  Vincent,  a  little  dis- 
appointed. "But  it's  for  your  own  good.  Siska  will 
understand  that !  And  you  will  become  a  great  scholar 
and  do  us  all  proud,  eh.  Master  Lorki?" 

What  would  he  not  have  given  to  seize  the  sailor 
and  charge  him  with  kisses  for  Siska !  But  within  the 
walls  of  that  malevolent  factory,  so  near  the  room  in 
which  his  majestic  cousin  sat  enthroned,  not  far  from 
the  place  haunted  by  the  terrible  Felicite  and  the  mock- 
ing Gina,  the  schoolboy  felt  ill  at  ease,  hampered,  con- 
strained, and  so  did  not  give  expression  to  his  emo- 
tion. And  he  felt  a  little  remorseful  at  the  thought 
that  he  had  not  once  inquired  for  his  faithful  Siska 
since  the  day  of  his  father's  funeral. 

Vincent  divined  the  boy's  embarrassment.  At  Lau- 
rent's age  feelings  are  not  easily  disguised,  and  Vin- 
cent easily  read  the  boy's  pain  in  his  serious  expres- 
sion, his  husky  voice,  and  especially  in  the  fervent 
looks  that  lingered  upon  this  dear  inhabitant  of  his 
father's  house.  And  as  tears  threatened  to  veil 
Laurent's  big  homesick  eyes: 


"THE  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBINSON"      37 

"Come,  come,  Master  Lorki  !'*  he  said,  grasping  the 
boy's  hands  in  his  and  pressing  them  warmly.  "None 
of  that,  now,  by  my  quid !  Shh !  Hush !  We're  not 
setting  sail  yet!  At  least  you  can  join  me  on  the 
bridge  of  the  schooner!  I'll  wait  for  you.  Now  I'm 
going  to  heave  anchor,  for  I  hear  the  voice  of  old  Cat 
o'  Nine  Tails,  otherwise  called  The  Pasha.  To  your 
posts,  all  of  you!" 

The  packing-room,  a  huge  hall  around  the  sides  of 
which  ran  a  platform,  was  situated  on  the  first  floor 
of  the  main  building,  and  accommodated  three  hun- 
dred workwomen,  for  the  most  part  fresh,  plump,  tur- 
bulent girls,  brazen,  full  blooded,  with  laughing,  sen- 
sual mouths,  intrepid  eyes,  possessing  the  gift  of  gab. 
They  were  uniformly  and  cleanly  garbed  in  blue  skirts 
and  cottonette  jackets,  their  hair  tightly  twisted  into  a 
knot  at  the  back  and  held  together  under  little,  white 
frilled  caps,  the  strings  of  which  fell  down  their  backs. 
Employed  in  putting  the  finishing  touches  to  the  can- 
dles as  they  came  out  of  the  mould,  in  polishing  and 
packing  them,  some  plying  the  roller,  others  the  wick- 
cutter,  they  bustled  about  the  three  rows  of  tables  and 
polishing  machines,  and  the  candles  passed  from  one 
machine  to  the  next,  approaching,  with  each  manipu- 
lation, the  type  destined  to  garnish  candelabra  and 
girandoles.  Since  it  was  very  hot  working  above  the 
steam  propelled  machines,  and  since  they  worked  with 
a  great  deal  of  spirit,  many  of  them,  in  order  to  be 
more  comfortable,  opened  their  waists  and  uncovered 
their  throats,  braving  the  reproofs  administered  by 
Tilbak  reluctantly,  and,  to  borrow  his  own  picturesque 
phrase,  only  when  the  girls  had  reefed  their  last  sails. 
They  and  their  machines  were  reflected  in  the  floor, 
constantly  waxed  by  stearine  waste,  and  as  slippery 


38  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

as  the  floors  of  "The  PeHcan"  or  "The  Mirror," 
their  favorite  dance  halls.  In  the  evening,  the 
light  of  many  lamps  enlivened  this  multiplied  re- 
flection, and  added  to  the  noise  of  many  voices  and  the 
grinding  of  the  machines,  blinded  and  deafened  Lau- 
rent each  time  that  he  had  come  to  the  door  of  the 
room.  What  troubled  him  most  was  the  sight  of  all 
these  pretty  girls  facing  him  as  they  stood  at  their 
benches.  Very  abashed  and  very  clumsy,  he  passed 
between  the  long  lines  of  benches  and,  stepping  ging- 
erly to  avoid  slipping  on  the  glassy  floor,  he  gained 
the  end  of  the  room  where  Vincent  Tilback  sat 
enthroned  in  a  species  of  pulpit  that  he  termed  his 
"poop." 

There,  under  the  protection  of  his  friend,  Laurent 
soon  regained  his  self-possession.  He  suffered  the  in- 
quisition of  those  many  dark  and  brilliant  eyes,  re- 
sponded to  the  smiles  upon  those  shining  faces,  and 
gathered  his  courage  sufficiently  to  approach  the  polish- 
ers and  follow  the  movement  of  rosy  hands  as  smooth 
as  the  stearine  itself. 

One  day  Tilbak  asked  him  if  he  still  cared  as  much 
for  stories  as  he  used  to.  "Oh !  more  than  ever,"  ex- 
claimed Laurent.  The  sailor  took  from  beneath  his 
coat  two  volumes  that  had  been  tightly  pressed  to  his 
breast,  and  gave  them  to  the  young  schoolboy. 

"Accept  these  books  as  a  remembrance  from  Siska 
and  Vincent,"  said  the  good  fellow.  They  were  "The 
Swiss  Family  Robinson."  "I  inherited  them  from  a 
helmsman  who  died  of  yellow  fever  in  the  Antilles. 
I  do  not  know  how  to  read,  Master  Lorki;  when  I 
was  nine  years  old  I  took  care  of  the  cows  with  Siska, 
and  I  was  a  cabin-boy  at  twelve." 

Laurent  did  not  foresee  the  consequences  of  receiv- 


"THE  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBINSON''      39 

ing  this  gift.  Felicite  soon  discovered  the  two  poor 
volumes  so  well  hidden  at  the  bottom  of  his  trunk. 
He  had  not  yet  read  them  through.  Outrageously 
spoiled,  these  two  contraband  old  books  exhaled  that 
odor  of  the  hold  and  of  stale  tobacco  which  obstin- 
ately impregnates  the  belongings  of  sea-folk,  and  as 
suspicious  as  an  excise-man,  Felicite  doubted  greatly 
that  they  could  have  come  from  the  library,  hermetical- 
ly shut  since  last  vacation.  The  untidy  people  and  the 
air  of  adventure  in  "The  Swiss  Family  Robinson" 
likewise  contributed  to  excite  the  horror  and  indig- 
nation of  Felicite.  Souls  of  her  species  become  harder 
and  haughtier  in  proportion  as  they  wish  to  impress 
humble  folk  with  their  importance.  She  began  a  genu- 
ine magisterial  hearing.  Laurent  submitted  to  ques- 
tion after  question,  and,  since  he  was  firm  in  his  re- 
fusal to  name  the  donor  of  the  books,  she  took  them 
to  Cousin  Dobouziez.  Called  before  his  guardian,  Lau- 
rent refused  to  answer  his  summons.  He  was  de- 
prived of  dessert,  put  upon  a  diet  of  bread  and  water, 
locked  in  a  dark  room,  but  they  forced  not  one  more 
word  from  him.  Denounce  Tilbak !  He  would  rather 
have  been  crushed  to  his  last  fiber  by  the  man-killing 
machine !  While  waiting  to  share  the  lot  of  the  blond 
"Curly,"  he  commenced  by  braving  old  Cat  o*  Nine 
Tails,  whom  Dobouziez,  who  had  exhausted  all  his 
methods  of  intimidation,  had  decided  to  call  to  the 
rescue. 

The  Pasha  had  stripped  the  boy  with  the  truculence 
of  a  flagellant  friar,  and  held  the  boy*s  head  between 
his  knees.  Laurent  did  not  deign  to  make  the  slight- 
est plea  for  mercy.  Already  the  executioner  began  to 
raise  his  cane  to  thrash  the  rebel,  when  Dobouziez, 
overcome  by  some  scruple  or  shocked  by  a  spectacle 


40  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

more  worthy  of  a  convict  gang  than  a  respectable  place 
of  business,  stopped  his  partner^s  hand. 

"I  have  just  found  a  method  of  breaking  your  pig- 
headed will,"  he  declared  to  Laurent,  whom  Felicite 
had  come  to  remove  to  his  cell.  "Tomorrow  you  will 
leave  for  Saint  Hubert,  where  parents  lock  up  rascals 
like  you  with  young  thieves !" 

Laurent  told  himself  that,  prison  for  prison,  any  one 
would  be  satisfactory  that  did  not  have  Felicite  for 
its  jailor. 

However,  Tilbak,  worried  because  he  no  longer  saw 
his  young  friend,  that  very  day  asked  the  servants, 
and  having  been  told  what  had  happened,  he  immedi- 
ately asked  to  see  Monsieur  Dobouziez  about  an  urgent 
matter. 

Sitting  at  his  desk,  his  back  turned  to  the  door,  the 
manufacturer,  who  had  just  condemned  his  ward,  had 
recovered  his  habitual  calm  and  was  working  with  his 
usual  lucidity  of  spirit.  Tilbak  presented  himself,  hat 
in  hand,  and  took  off  his  great  boots  in  deference  to  the 
rich  Tournal  carpet.  Dobouziez  barely  turned  his 
head,  and  without  raising  his  eyes  from  the  diagram 
stretched  before  him  called : 

"Come  here!    What  do  you  want  of  me?" 

"Excuse  me,  sir,  but  it  was  I  who  gave  Master 
Laurent  the  books  which  made  you  so  angry  with 
him.  ..." 

"Oh!  It  was  yon,  was  it?"  was  all  that  Dobouziez 
said,  and  he  pressed  the  electric  button  on  his  desk. 

"Please  ask  Mademoiselle  Felicite  for  the  objects 
forfeited  by  Monsieur  Paridael,"  he  ordered  the  office 
boy  who  had  run  from  the  next  room. 

The  circumstantial  evidence  having  been  brought  to 
him,  the  manufacturer  rose  with  a  bored  air,  consid- 


"THE  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBINSON''      41 

ered  a  moment,  with  disgust,  the  poor  old  books,  as 
if  they  represented  to  him  a  jelly  fish  or  some  other 
slimy  and  gelatinous  inhabitant  of  the  waves,  and, 
having  no  forceps  with  which  to  touch  them,  made  a 
sign  to  Tilbak  to  remove  his  property. 

"Hereafter  you  will  spare  yourself  the  trouble  of 
putting  such  rubbish  in  the  hands  of  my  ward." 

"Certainly,  sir.  And  be  sure  that  had  I  foreseen 
the  trouble  which  these  old  books  caused  the  dear  boy, 
I  should  have  been  careful  not  to  give  them  to  him. 
Forgive  him,  I  beg  you.  It  wasn't  his  fault.  I  am  the 
guilty  party.  ..." 

Monsieur  Dobouziez,  visibly  annoyed  by  this  inter- 
cession, turned  his  back  upon  the  pleader,  seated  him- 
self, and  methodically  filling  the  space  between  the 
two  branches  of  his  compass  with  Chinese  ink,  settled 
himself  to  continue  his  diagram. 

"Listen  to  me,  boss,"  insisted  Tilbak,  after  having 
coughed  to  attract  the  magnate's  attention,  "your  ward 
is  not  a  rascal.  They  are  deceiving  you  about 
him.  .  .  .  My  wife  knows  him  better, you  know.  She 
can  tell  you  what  he's  worth !  Are  you  serious  about 
locking  him  up  with  thieves?  Captain,  I  appeal  to 
your  honor,  to  your  feelings  as  a  former  soldier.  It 
is  impossible  foe  you  to  condemn  that  child  because 
he  refused  to  be  a  Judas!  .  .  .    Yes — a  Judas!" 

At  this  heated  defiance.  Monsieur  Dobouziez 
jumped,  half  rose  from  his  chair,  and  more  white  than 
usual,  stretched  his  arm  toward  the  door  with  so  per- 
emptory a  gesture,  and  cast  so  bitter  a  look  at  Tilbak, 
that  the  latter,  fearing  to  do  an  ill  office  to  Paridael 
by  insisting,  decided  to  draw  on  his  boots,  and  to  walk 
out,  holding  his  hand  to  his  hat. 

Did  the  mediation  of  Tilbak  cause  the  wise  Do- 


42  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

bouziez  to  reflect?  Or  did  the  moderate  man  fear 
the  effect  that  such  an  extremely  rigorous  act  would 
have  upon  public  opinion  ?  Laurent  escaped  the  prison 
of  Saint  Hubert.  Only,  to  the  numerous  interdictions 
which  weighed  down  upon  him,  his  guardian  added  one 
forbidding  him  entrance  to  the  factory  and  converse 
with  the  workmen. 

"As  if  he  were  not  ill-bred  and  common  enough 
without  that,"  added  Felicite,  charged  with  keeping  a 
tighter  rein  than  ever  upon  the  unnatural  child. 

"Beware,  Peasant,  if  I  catch  you  rooting  about  the 
workroom!'*  said  Saint-Fardier,  accompanying  this 
menace  with  a  twirl  of  his  cane. 

As  if  Laurent  would  have  recoiled  before  the  dan- 
gers of  a  whipping!  He  tried  more  than  once  to  vio- 
late the  interdiction,  and  to  see  Tilbak,  to  thank  him 
and  convey  to  him  his  faithful  affection,  but  they  had 
not  forgotten  the  key  in  the  door  connecting  the  gar- 
den with  the  factory,  and  the  date  of  his  return  to 
school  came  before  he  had  found  the  chance  to  climb 
the  wall  in  order  to  visit  the  foreman. 

In  the  following  vacation,  Felicite  told  Laurent,  in 
the  guise  of  welcome  news,  that  his  sailor  had  not  re- 
mained in  the  factory  for  long  after  the  affair  of  "The 
Swiss  Family  Robinson."  Particularly  designated  for 
the  ill-humor  and  meddling  ways  of  Saint-Fardier, 
the  much-enduring  and  very  stoic  man  had  finally  re- 
plied in  kind,  and  the  satrap,  who  was  seeking  only  a 
single  pretext  for  getting  rid  of  him,  did  not  allow  the 
occasion  to  slip  by. 

All  broken  up  by  this  news,  Laurent  sought  Gina, 
counting  upon  interesting  her  in  the  fate  of  Tilbak  and 
his  family,  for  the  poor  folk  had  children. 

During  the  drama  which  ended  with  the  discharge 


"THE  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBINSON''      43 

of  the  foreman,  Gina  had  affected  a  supreme  indiffer- 
ence to  what  was  occurring.  Far  from  seeking  to 
excuse  the  so-called  fault  of  Vincent  Tilbak,  she  had 
not  even  interceded  in  Laurent's  favor.  On  the  con- 
trary, as  soon  as  she  heard  of  her  cousin's  relations 
with  "common  people,"  she  outdid  her  former  coldness 
and  disdain,  ceasing  even  to  speak  to  him  of  the  scan- 
dal that  was  turning  the  house  upside  down.  During 
the  boy's  quarantine,  for  Tilbak  and  his  book  had 
given  the  boy  the  pestilence,  the  proud  little  lady  had 
not  once  asked  for  him.  And  when  he  was  put  back 
into  circulation  she  hardly  deigned  to  recognize  him. 

And  in  despite  of  this,  Laurent  retained  illusions 
concerning  his  cousin's  character.  He  imputed  her 
dryness  and  her  lack  of  feeling  to  her  education.  How 
could  she  be  interested  in  the  working  classes,  people 
whose  existence  she  scarcely  suspected?  She  never 
came  in  contact  with  them,  and  she  heard  theni  spoken 
of  by  her  parents  as  a  fourth  kingdom  of  nature,  a 
tool,  an  animated  mineral  less  interesting  than  plants, 
and  more  dangerous  than  animals. 

He  found  Gina  alone  in  the  dining  room,  watering 
the  hyacinths  that  flourished  in  the  window-boxes. 
Emboldened  by  his  affection  for  Vincent,  Laurent 
came  up  to  her  and  began  without  preamble : 

"Gina,  Cousin  Gina,  ask  your  father  to  reinstate 
Vincent  Tilbak.  ..." 

" — Vincent,"  she  answered,  continuing  to  tend  to 
her  aristocratic  flowers,  "I  do  not  know  Vincent  Til- 
bak. ..." 

"The  foreman  of  the  packing  room,  whom  Mon- 
sieur Saint-Fardier  discharged.  ..." 

"Ah!  Now  I  know  whom  you  mean.  *The  Swiss 
Family  Robinson !'    The  man  who  made  us  all  angry 


44  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

with  you !  Are  you  not  ashamed  to  speak  again  of  that 
pretty  mess?  I  certainly  shall  be  careful  not  to  men- 
tion his  name  to  my  father  !'* 

And,  with  a  scandalized  grimace,  Gina  passed  into 
the  other  room,  humming  a  popular  song.  Laurent 
remained  stupefied,  mechanically  looking  at  the  hya- 
cinths, pretty  and  crisp,  of  which  Gina  was  so  careful. 
For  an  instant  he  nourished  a  desire  to  ravage  these 
flowers,  persuaded  for  the  moment  that  he  had  taken 
an  eternal  dislike  to  his  inhuman  little  cousin. 


V 

THE  DRAIN 

That  vacation  passed  like  the  others,  with  this  dif- 
ference only,  that  in  the  great,  newly-furnished  house, 
Laurent  was  even  more  neglected  and  left  to  himself 
than  usual.  He  came  to  envy  the  lot  of  the  old  pieces 
of  furniture,  cast  off  and  doomed  to  slumber  in  the 
gloom  and  the  dust  of  the  attic.  At  least,  when  they 
had  ceased  to  please,  they  were  not  humiliated  by  being 
placed  in  contact  with  their  successors,  while  he,  who 
had  never  pleased,  nevertheless  continued  to  figure  as 
an  incongruous  and  melancholy  contrast  to  the  assort- 
ment of  rich  furnishings  and  chilly  plants.  He  felt 
himself  more  and  more  out  of  place  in  this  costly  and 
exclusive  environment.  Waiting  for  that  day  to  come 
when  he  would  be  free  to  join  others  among  his  fel- 
low men  as  ill-favored  as  himself,  he  used  to  long  for 
night  to  come  so  that  he  might  rejoin,  in  his  narrow 
corner  under  the  roof,  the  repudiated  and  banished 
objects  that  he  loved. 

And  yet,  as  dismal  and  long  as  these  vacations 
seemed  to  him,  he  was  surprised  to  find  that,  hardly 
returned  to  school,  he  began  to  lament  their  end  out  of 
a  real  love  of  those  tedious  hours. 

Of  his  sojourn  with  his  guardians,  he  remembered 
most  pleasantly  the  melancholy  episodes,  and  it  was  the 

45 


46  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

least  pleasing  and  the  most  rough  and  corroded  aspects 
of  the  factory  that  haunted  him  as  he  studied,  or  when 
he  could  not  sleep.  Out  of  aversion  for  the  hyacinths 
that  to  him  symbolized  his  beautiful  cousin's  harshness 
toward  the  poor  and  the  downtrodden,  he  would  have 
collected  withered  bouquets  and  rustic  flowers.  To 
the  expensive  nectarines  reserved  for  Cousin  Lydia,  he 
preferred  a  hard  apple  that  would  crunch  between  his 
teeth. 

In  the  same  way,  he  retained  in  his  nostrils  the  any- 
thing but  soft  odour  of  the  factory,  especially  the  smell 
of  the  drain  which  bordered  the  immense  inclosure  and 
into  which  was  discharged  the  refuse  of  the  various 
chemical  processes,  pestilential  acids,  the  waste  arising 
from  the  refining  of  the  tallow.  The  musty,  oily  odour 
exhaled  by  these  filthy  excrescences  pursued  him,  when 
he  was  at  school,  with  the  obstinacy  of  a  vulgar  re- 
frain. This  reek  was  associated  in  his  mind  with  the 
working  classes,  with  the  poor  wretches  blinded  by 
acreoline,  mangled  by  the  machines,  discharged  by 
Saint-Fardier ;  it  spoke  to  Laurent  of  the  packing 
room  and  its  girls,  with  their  breasts  bare,  of  Tilbak 
and  the  episode  of  "The  Swiss  Family  Robinson** ;  it 
suggested  the  peculiar  suburb,  the  glutted,  wanton 
night  about  the  Stone  Mill. 

When  he  set  foot  in  his  natal  city  it  was  by  this  drain 
that  the  realm  of  Gina  announced  its  presence  to  him. 
Of  all  that  belonged  to  the  factory,  this  drain  alone 
came  to  meet  him  at  a  distance,  took  him  when  he  got 
out  of  the  train,  welcomed  him  with  a  certain  cheer- 
fulness long  before  he  had  seen,  through  its  curtain  of 
trees,  the  first  roofs  and  mills  of  the  suburb,  the  high, 
red,  rigid  chimneys  shaking  their  fulginous  plumes  in 
derisive  welcome.    It  was  also  the  last  to  say  farewell 


THE  DRAIN  4jr 

to  him  when  he  went  away,  like  a  lost,  mangy  dog 
that  runs  along  after  a  pitying  passer-by. 

Its  dark  surface  streaked  with  delicate  colours,  this 
horrible  sink  flowed,  open  to  the  sky,  the  whole  length 
of  the  leprous  road  leading  to  the  factory.  With  inso- 
lent sluggishness  it  sought  the  branch  of  the  river 
whose  waters  it  dishonored.  The  dwellers  upon  the 
banks  of  the  river,  humble  folks  who  were  dependent 
upon  the  all-powerful  factory,  murmured  among  them- 
selves but  did  not  dare  complain  too  loudly.  Confident 
of  their  submission,  the  owners  kept  adjourning  the 
great  expense  of  covering  this  cesspool.  An  epidemic 
of  cholera,  breaking  out  in  the  middle  of  August,  gave 
them,  however,  something  to  think  about.  Provoked 
and  stimulated  by  the  noxious  exhalations  of  the  drain, 
the  scourge  struck  the  factory  quarters  more  cruelly 
than  any  other.  The  working  people  died  like  flies. 
Although  the  survivors  feared  famine  should  they  pro- 
test openly  against  the  stench,  the  Dobouziez  family 
thought  they  could  win  over  the  population,  secretly 
rising  against  them,  and  came  to  the  relief  of  the 
stricken  families.  But  their  almost  forced  generosity 
expended  itself  without  good  grace,  without  tact,  with- 
out that  pity  which  enhances  kindness  and  distin- 
guishes true  charity  from  made-to-order  philanthropy. 
To  the  charitable  Felicite  had  been  entrusted  the  dis- 
tribution of  alms.  Occupied  in  this  direction,  she  had 
less  chance  to  watch  Laurent,  and  he  profited  by  this 
laxity  in  taking  an  occasional  furlough. 

One  opaque  and  coppery  evening  he  was  making  his 
way  toward  the  factory-quarter.  While  walking  slow- 
ly down  the  long  workingman^s  street,  sordidly  lit  at 
great  intervals  by  a  smoky  lantern,  his  attention,  more 
finely  sharpened  and  more  subtle  than  usual,  was  dis- 


48  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

tracted  by  a  prolonged  and  mournful  murmur.  He 
thought  first  of  a  chorus  of  frogs,  but  immediately 
knew  that  no  living  beast  ever  haunted  the  silt  of  the 
drain.  As  he  advanced,  the  noise  became  more  dis- 
tinct. Upon  turning  the  corner  near  a  crossroad  close 
to  the  factory  he  discovered  the  cause. 

In  a  little  bracketed  niche  adorning  the  angle  of  two 
streets  was  enthroned  a  Madonna  of  painted  wood 
about  which  a  hundred  tallow  candles  made  a  resplen- 
dent halo.  The  total  obscurity  of  the  rest  of  the  road 
rendered  this  partial  illumination  especially  fantastic. 
At  the  foot  of  the  glistening  tabernacle,  before  which 
there  usually  burned  only  a  small  night  light,  under- 
neath this  naive  simulcarum  of  the  Assumption,  so  low 
that  the  tongues  of  flame  darting  and  trembling  in  the 
immobile,  suffocating  night  could  barely  reach  them, 
the  poor  women  of  the  quarter  swarmed  in  a  prostrate 
mass.  In  black  mantles  and  white  caps,  they  told  their 
rosaries,  mumbling  litanies  in  the  broken  and  whining 
voices  of  beggars  who  tell  their  misfortunes.  They 
had  each  paid  their  share  of  this  offering  of  illumina- 
tion in  the  hope  of  prevailing,  through  the  interces- 
sion of  His  Mother,  upon  the  God  who  at  will  lets 
loose  and  withholds  devouring  plagues. 

It  was  to  be  expected  that  the  illumination  would 
not  last  as  long  as  the  psalmody.  The  aureole  was 
already  punctured  with  black  stains.  And  each  time 
that  a  candle  threatened  to  become  extinguished  the 
supplicants  redoubled  their  prayers,  lamented  more 
loudly  and  quickly.  Without  doubt  the  dear  souls  of 
a  brother,  a  husband  or  a  child  corresponded  to  those 
agonizing  flames.  And  they  would  cease  trembling  at 
the  moment  when  the  invalid  was  in  the  throes  of 
death.    It  was  as  if  so  many  last  breaths  extinguished 


THE  DRAIN  49 

one  by  one  the  tremulous  glimmering  candles.  And 
the  shadows  thickened,  heavily  weighted  with  the 
day's  dead.  A  few  steps  away  rose  the  factory,  even 
darker  than  the  surrounding  gloom,  like  the  temple  of 
a  malicious  divinity.  An  excess  of  calamity:  at  that 
equivocal  hour  the  terrible  drain,  rising  higher  than 
usual,  neutralized  by  its  murderous  effluvia  the  increase 
of  their  prayers  and  the  holy  water  of  their  tears. 

To  reinforce  this  impression  of  agony  and  despair, 
it  seemed  to  Laurent,  who  was  closely  scrutinizing  the 
smiling  Madonna,  that  her  face  reproduced  the  impe- 
rious and  too  regular  features  of  his  Cousin  Gina.  Was 
it  possible  that,  in  order  to  make  these  devotions  mis- 
carry, the  spirit  of  the  Dobouziez  factory  had  substi- 
tuted itself  for  the  Queen  of  Heaven?  Just  then  the 
poor  mothers,  wives,  sisters,  daughters,  children  and 
grandmothers  began  to  intone,  after  the  vicar,  a  plead- 
ing and  lamentable  Regina  Coeli ! 

Laurent  could  no  longer  doubt  it.  He  recognized 
her  overweening  expression,  her  distant  and  mocking 
glance.  He  would  have  sworn  that  a  breath  escaped 
between  the  lips  of  the  false  Madonna,  and  that  she 
was  taking  a  crafty  pleasure  in  blowing  out  the  last 
candles ! 

He  was  tempted  to  throw  himself  between  the  crowd 
and  the  idol  and  to  cry  to  them : 

"Stop!  You  are  deceiving  yourselves  cruelly,  O 
poor  women,  my  sisters!  She  whose  aid  you  are  in- 
yoking  is  the  other  Queen,  as  beautiful,  but  the  most 
pitiless  of  all  queens.  Stop !  She  is  Regina,  the  nymph 
of  the  drain,  the  flower  of  the  cesspool;  it  nourishes 
her  and  makes  her  proud  and  strong.  But  you !  You 
it  poisons,  and  you  it  kills  !'* 

But  the  canticle  melted  suddenly  into  a  torrent  of 


50  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

tears.  Not  one  candle  was  burning  any  longer.  The 
little  Madonna  hid  herself  from  the  imploring  eyes  of 
those  many  women.  The  last  victim  of  the  cholera 
had  just  expired. 


VI 

THE  NEW  SUIT 

That  winter  Mademoiselle  Dobouziez  was  to  make 
her  debut.  The  days  passed  in  errands  and  purchases. 
Gina  was  ordering  many  expensive  and  rare  gowns. 
Her  mother,  forced  to  chaperon  and  accompany  her, 
felt  the  effects  of  an  access  of  coquetry.  She  thought  it 
proper  to  dress  like  a  young  girl,  to  wear  light  colors, 
to  choose  gowns  and  hats  as  nearly  like  her  daughter's 
as  she  could  obtain  them.  Pushing  her  love  of  artifi- 
cial flowers  and  flashy  ribbons  to  an  extreme,  she 
turned  the  modistes'  shops  topsy  turvy,  unrolling  all  the 
ribbons,  upsetting  all  the  reels  of  trimming,  bathing 
in  a  sea  of  feathers,  ribbons,  marabou  and  ostrich 
plumes.  Had  Regina  not  been  there  to  take  the  mil- 
liner aside  as  she  left  the  shop  and  cancel  some  of  the 
embellishments  chosen  by  the  good  lady,  her  mother 
would  have  harbored  upon  her  hats  enough  things  to 
decorate  the  chief  altar  of  the  cathedral  or  to  enrich 
a  botanical  and  ornithological  museum.  It  was  not 
without  a  struggle  that  Gina,  who  was  very  sensitive 
to  ridicule,  succeeded  in  pruning  away  a  few  of  the 
shrubs  from  the  nursery  that  Madame  Dobouziez 
proposed  to  offer  to  the  admiration  of  the  commercial 
aristocracy. 

51 


52  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

Gina  was  already  beginning  to  reveal  a  feminine  rest- 
lessness, to  cherish  some  thoughts  of  emancipation. 
For  the  surroundings  in  which  she  exhibited  them,  her 
girlish  gowns  were  a  little  lacking  in  modesty,  so  the 
provincial  puritans  said,  but  they  possessed  a  great 
deal  of  character,  and  Gina  wore  them  with  a  chal- 
lenging swagger  that  was  very  alluring.  Laurent  felt 
himself  more  and  more  greatly  fascinated  by  the  radi- 
ant heiress,  and  that  without  discerning  whether  his 
feeling  for  her  was  envy  or  love. 

He  arrived  at  the  moment  when  the  perspective  of 
continued  pleasures  and  new  successes  was  beginning 
to  excite  Gina  and  make  her  more  communicative  and 
more  amiable  to  those  around  her.  Won  by  her  good 
spirits,  her  conciliating  and  jovial  moods,  Laurent 
himself  often  remained  near  her.  When  he  sulked  in 
his  corner  she  would  call  him,  tell  him  her  plans,  dis- 
close the  number  of  invitations  being  sent  out  for  her 
first  dance,  show  him  her  purchases,  even  deign  to 
consult  him  about  the  shade  or  the  hang  of  a  gown  or 
the  choice  of  a  ring. 

"Come  here,  Peasant,  and  show  that  you  have  some 
taste!" 

She  darted  out  the  sobriquet  with  a  good  humor 
that  deprived  it  of  any  disagreeable  impHcation. 
Would  this  momentary  calm  in  their  family  relations 
endure?  Laurent  availed  himself  of  it  as  a  famished 
tramp  happily  warms  himself  at  an  hospitable  hearth- 
side,  forgetting  that  in  an  hour  he  will  have  to  resume 
his  road  out  in  the  snow  and  ice. 

When  Laurent  went  to  the  vestibule  or  to  the  porte- 
cochere  to  watch  their  departure,  Gina  accepted  his 
attentions,  consenting  to  let  him  hold  her  evening 
wrap,  her  fan,  her  umbrella.    He  watched  her  quickly 


THE  NEW  SUIT  53 

get  into  the  carriage,  lifting  the  lacy  flounces  of  her 
petticoat  with  an  adorable  gesture. 

"Are  you  coming,  Mother?    Good-by,  Peasant!'* 

Cousin  Lydia,  all  out  of  breath,  hoisted  herself  into 
the  carriage.  The  step  creaked  under  her  weight,  and 
the  carriage  itself  leaned  down  on  her  side. 

Finally  she  was  installed.  Gina's  nervous  little 
gloved  hand  let  down  the  window.  The  footman,  hat 
in  hand,  opened  the  folding  doors  of  the  entrance  hall 
and  saluted  the  ladies.    She  had  gone! 

It  was  necessary  also  to  give  some  attention  to  the 
outfitting  of  young  Paridael,  who  was  to  be  sent  far 
away,  to  an  international  college,  from  which  he  would 
not  return  until  he  had  finished  his  studies. 

Cousin  Lydia  and  the  inevitable  Felicite  made  in- 
roads upon  the  wardrobe  of  Monsieur  Dobouziez. 
With  the  minute  exactitude  of  archaeologists  they  in- 
spected, piece  by  piece,  the  togs  that  "Monsieur"  no 
longer  wore,  passing  them  from  hand  to  hand,  weigh- 
ing them,  fingering  the  material,  deliberating  together. 
Herself  won  over  by  the  spirit  of  gayety  that  filled  the 
house,  Madame  Dobouziez  declared  herself  ready  to 
sacrifice,  in  order  to  complete  Laurent's  outfit,  one  of 
her  husband's  coats,  almost  new,  or  an  overcoat  that 
was  rather  more  out  of  fashion  than  worn  out. 

But  Felicite  invariably  found  the  clothes  too  good 
for  a  boy  so  negligent  about  his  belongings. 

"Really,  madame,  the  boots,  cap  and  leather  trous- 
ers of  one  of  our  workmen  would  suit  him  better." 

Cousin  Lydia  tore  a  promise  from  Laurent,  almost 
upon  his  oath,  to  take  good  care  of  his  clothes.  It 
was  "you  are  sure,  now  ?"  and  "you'll  do  better,  won't 
you?"  as  if  they  had  been  confiding  to  his  care  the 
seamless  tunic  of  the  Saviour.     They  brought  it  to 


54  THE  NEW,  CARTHAGE 

such  a  pass  that  rather  than  saddle  himself  with  the 
responsibility  which  he  had  to  assume  with  his  cousin's 
cast-off  clothes,  Laurent  would  have  preferred  to  wear 
the  comfortable  and  durable  clothes  of  his  friends  the 
laborers. 

Nothing  remained  but  to  dispose  of  a  certain  pair 
of  green  and  blue  plaid  trousers,  an  abomination  that 
Cousin  Wilham  himself,  who  was  not  very  exact- 
ing in  regard  to  his  wearing  apparel,  had  ceased  using 
after  its  third  wearing. 

Felicite  coveted  these  disastrous  breeches  with  a 
view  to  reselling  them  to  the  haberdasher.  Each  piece 
of  clothing  falling  to  the  orphan  decreased  by  so  much 
the  profit  which  she  usually  made  on  her  employers' 
wardrobe.  This  circumstance  was  no  stranger  to  the 
animosity  that  she  cherished  for  Laurent.  He,  more- 
over, would  willingly  have  given  her  his  cousin's  en- 
tire outfit,  and  especially  the  frightful  spinach  and  in- 
digo trousers,  but  he  did  not  dare  show  his  repugnance 
openly,  since  Cousin  Lydia  had  taken  it  into  her  head 
that  they  would  please  him  mightily. 

At  this  moment  Regina,  who  was  looking  for  her 
mother,  appeared  on  the  stair-landing. 

"Oh !  The  nightmare !"  she  cried,  *T  hope,  Mamma, 
that  you're  not  going  to  give  that  to  Laurent  ?  All  the 
Peasant  needs  is  that  horror  to  make  him  deserve  his 
name !" 

And  in  an  outburst  of  fraternal  emotion,  Gina,  hav- 
ing examined  the  pile  of  old  clothes  destined  for  her 
cousin,  declared  that  some  of  it  might  do  for  lounging 
clothes,  but  that  there  was  no  single  suit  which  he  could 
wear  in  public. 

"Let's  go.  Mamma,"  she  said,  "I  have  two  things  to 
tend  to  down  town,  and,  in  passing,  we'll  stop  at  the 


THE  NEW  SUIT  55 

Saint-Fardier's  tailor's.  He  will  find  a  way  to  polish 
this  young  man  up  a  bit.    Come  along,  you,  too." 

There  was  no  way  of  resisting  Gina.  Felicite  swal- 
lowed her  spite,  and  consoled  herself  for  the  unwonted 
favor  which  the  capricious  girl  was  bestowing  upon 
the  accursed  child  by  appropriating  the  plaid  trousers 
entirely  without  repugnance. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Laurent  had  gone  out  rid- 
ing with  his  cousins.  Seated  next  to  the  coachman, 
whom  surprise  had  almost  precipitated  from  his  seat 
when  Laurent  perched  there,  he  turned  from  time  to 
time  to  show  Gina  a  less  sullen  expression  than  usual, 
and  to  thank  her  by  his  unaccustomed  joy.  He  counted 
for  something  in  the  Dobouziez  family!  This  sudden 
access  of  favor  just  escaped  making  him  vain.  He 
felt  a  bit  of  conceit  creeping  into  his  spirit  and  looked 
down  upon  the  pedestrians  from  the  height  of  his 
grandeur.  Under  the  effect  of  this  moment  he  forgot 
the  disparagement  and  the  affronts  that  he  had  pre- 
viously undergone,  the  harshness  of  Gina  and  her  par- 
ents toward  the  Tilbaks,  and  he  remembered,  not  with- 
out remorse,  his  blasphemies  against  the  "nymph  of 
the  drain"  on  that  sinister  night  of  the  no  vena  when 
the  cholera  was  raging. 

Ah!  the  cholera-stricken,  the  wounded,  the  pariahs 
were  far  away !  He  had  not  abjured  them,  but  he  no 
longer  worried  about  them.  He  was  ready  to  recog- 
nize without  pain  or  reserve  the  benificence  of  his 
guardian,  to  find  Cousin  Lydia  very  affectionate,  to 
account  for  the  Pasha's  ferocity  on  the  score  of  his 
liver  trouble.  He  no  longer  bore  a  grudge  even  against 
Felicite. 

A  charming  morning  of  reconciliation!  It  was  a 
beautiful  day,  the  streets  seemed  in  holiday  apparel, 


56  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

the  ladies  whose  carriages  passed  theirs  almost  included 
him  in  their  bows. 

They  stopped  in  turn  at  the  Saint-Fardier's  tailor, 
haberdasher,  bootmaker  and  hatter.  The  tailor  took 
Paridael's  measure  for  a  suit,  for  which  Gina  chose 
the  most  expensive  and  finest  material,  in  spite  of  the 
protests  of  her  mother,  who  was  beginning  to  find 
Gina's  solicitude  for  their  young,  poor  relative  a  rather 
ruinous  affair.  To  what  prodigalities  would  Gina  not 
go  before  being  obliged  to  return  home  ?  Every  min- 
ute the  economical  lady  consulted  her  watch. 

"Gina,  if  s  time  for  luncheon.  Your  father  is  wait- 
ing for  us." 

But  Gina  had  taken  it  into  her  head  that  it  was  her 
turn  to  arrange  her  cousin's  outfit,  and  she  brought 
to  the  execution  of  her  plan  her  customary  haste  and 
petulance.  When  she  had  decided  to  do  something  she 
brooked  neither  delay  nor  reflection.  "Now  or  never" 
could  well  have  been  upon  her  crest. 

At  the  haberdasher's,  besides  ordering  six  fine  linen 
shirts  to  be  made  up  for  her  protege,  she  bought  a 
couple  of  beautiful  ties.  At  the  hatter's  he  exchanged 
his  worn  felt  for  an  irreproachable  headgear,  and  at 
the  bootmaker's  he  bought  shoes  that  fitted  his  foot  to 
perfection.  He  wore  his  new  shoes  and  hat.  It  was 
the  beginning  of  a  metamorphosis.  At  the  glove  shop 
Gina  remarked  for  the  first  time  that  he  had  a  finely 
shaped  foot  and  hand.  She  rejoiced  in  the  gradual 
change  that  was  taking  place  in  the  boy's  appearance. 

"Look,  Mamma !  He  hasn't  such  a  clownish  appear- 
ance now.  In  fact,  he  is  almost  nice  looking,  isn't 
he?" 

The  "almost"  spoiled  Laurent's  happiness  at  bit,  but 
he  could  hope  that  when  he  was  newly  clad  from  head 


THE  NEW  SUIT  57 

to  foot  Gina  would  find  him  altogether  presentable. 

An  illusion,  a  lure,  a  mirage,  that  day  was  none  the 
less  one  of  the  happiest  in  Laurent's  experience.  After 
Gina  had  paved  the  way,  every  one  at  the  factory,  even 
Cousin  William  and  the  irreconciliable  Felicite,  was 
more  gentle  with  the  boy,  and  did  not  scold  him  as 
often. 

"Mademoiselle  acts  as  if  she  still  played  with  dolls," 
the  peevish  creature  contented  herself  with  saying  in 
an  undertone,  when  Gina  made  Laurent  turn  and  turn 
so  that  he  might  show  his  new  things  to  Cousin  Will- 
iam. 

The  game  must  have  amused  the  girl,  for  when  the 
tailor  delivered  Laurent's  things  on  the  eve  of  a  boat 
trip  to  Hemixem,  where  the  Dobouziez  had  their  coun- 
try place,  she  asked  that  he  be  included  in  the  party. 
As  he  was  to  leave  the  following  day,  her  parents  lent 
themselves  to  this  latest  fancy,  upon  condition  that  he 
merit  it  by  prodigies  of  application  to  his  studies. 

Decidedly  Laurent  felt  his  last  prejudices  disappear. 
He  was  of  the  privileged  age  when  injuries  are  for- 
given, VN^hen  the  slightest  attention  compensates  for 
years  of  disaffection  and  indifference. 


vn 

HEMIXEM 

Happy  Laurent !  At  the  wharf,  exulting  in  his  new 
clothes,  carrying  his  head  high,  he  mixed  with  the 
guests  with  a  confidence  and  an  equality  that  he  had 
never  before  felt.  There  were  at  least  thirty  people 
in  the  party.  Ladies  and  girls  in  fresh,  delicate  sum- 
mer gowns,  gentlemen  in  elegant  neglige,  straw  hat 
and  white  flannels.  Not  only  was  Laurent  as  well 
dressed  as  they,  but  even  better  dressed,  and  the  Saint- 
Fardier  boys,  two  prigs  of  eighteen  and  twenty,  to 
whom  Gina  introduced  him  as  a  young  savage  reputed 
to  be  incorrigible,  but  in  the  process  of  being  trained, 
looked  askance,  exchanging  a  smile  of  understanding 
with  the  young  girl,  which,  at  any  other  moment,  would 
have  quite  taken  the  starch  out  of  Laurent.  That  smile 
commented  clearly  upon  the  anomaly  of  his  city  clothes. 

Athanasius  and  Gaston  were  inseparable,  and  always 
dressed  alike,  so  that  they  looked  like  two  fingers  from 
the  same  hand,  or  two  stalks  of  asparagus  from  the 
same  box.  Spare,  pale,  unhealthy  looking,  they  made 
their  weak  tonsils  a  pretext  for  exaggerating  the  height 
of  their  collars  and  for  periodically  muffling  up  their 
throats. 

The  widow  Saint-Fardier,  their  grandmother,  mis- 
tress of  a  gouty  and  almost  imbecile  nobleman,  had 

S8 


HEMIXEM  59 

wheedled  her  lover  so  successfully  that  he  had  forced 
his  daughter,  a  charming  and  affectionate  girl,  to  con- 
tract a  mesaillance  with  the  son  of  his  concubine.  To 
the  misconduct  of  the  Pasha  was  attributed  the  moral 
affliction  and  the  mysterious  and  incurable  disease 
which  caused  the  premature  death  of  Madame  Saint- 
Fardier.  Athanasius  and  Gaston  had  inherited  from 
their  mother  her  agreeable  features  and  a  certain 
native  distinction,  but  they  were  no  more  intelligent 
than  the  Baron  de  La  Bellone,  their  grandfather,  and 
the  paternal  immoralities  had  marked  them  with  the 
stigmata  that  had  obliterated  the  kings  of  France. 

To  Saint-Fardier,  his  pitiful  offspring  constituted  a 
reproach,  a  living  remorse.  He  had  had  a  horror  of 
them  since  he  first  saw  them  in  their  cradle,  but  his 
repugnance  prevailed  over  his  hatred,  and  he  never 
dared  to  whip  them.  He  kept  them  at  a  distance,  con- 
fided them  to  the  care  of  strangers,  or  left  them  to 
themselves,  filled  their  pockets  with  money  and  sent 
them  travelling,  so  that  he  might  see  as  little  of  them 
as  he  possibly  could.  They  ended  by  living  their  own 
life,  as  he  lived  his,  by  taking  their  meals  and 
lodging  outside  the  house,  treating  him  simply  as  a 
banker,  and  even  having  business  only  with  the  cashier 
of  the  factory.  It  was  not  his  fault  that  they  had 
not  become  horrible  scamps;  that  they  came  to  be 
nothing  but  high  livers  infatuated  with  their  own  ap- 
pearance, but  not  thoroughly  rotten.  In  spite  of  their 
weak  mentality,  they  could  not  forgive  him  for  what 
they  had  vaguely  heard  of  the  death  of  their  mother. 
The  jockey-like  pace  of  the  Pasha  made  them  blush. 
They  avoided  talking  to  him,  frequented  patrician  so- 
ciety, looking  to  their  mother's  name  as  protection, 
and  had  themselves  called  Saint-Fardier  de  La  Bellone, 


6o  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

Blase  and  unsophisticated,  young  and  already  senile, 
their  appearance  recalled  to  Laurent  his  own  when, 
one  All  Souls'  day,  Siska  had  made  him  up  to  look 
like  an  old  man.  But  the  young  Saint-Fardiers  did 
not  claim  his  attention  for  very  long. 

A  gong  rang,  the  signal  for  departure.  The  gang- 
plank had  been  drawn  in,  the  engine  was  stretching  its 
limbs,  and  everybody,  having  hurried  to  gtt  on  board, 
placed  themselves  as  best  they  could  on  the  front  deck, 
which  had  been  covered  with  an  awning  to  protect  the 
passengers  from  the  indiscreet  ardors  of  an  August  sun. 

The  weather  favored  the  excursionists.  Not  a  cloud 
appeared  in  a  sky  blue  with  the  clear  color  of  a  tur- 
quoise. 

The  wide  olive-yellow  river  had  a  holiday  aspect. 
Toward  the  north,  in  the  roadstead  and  in  the  basins, 
reposed  the  great  ships  of  commerce,  steamers  and 
sailors,  deserted  by  the  bulk  of  their  crews.  The  gangs 
of  dockers  were  taking  a  day  off.  At  most  one  boat 
would  be  loaded  in  time  to  get  to  sea  by  afternoon. 
There  was  no  other  movement  on  the  river  than  that 
of  the  pleasure  excursions ;  yawls,  the  yachts  of  ama- 
teurs and  sportsmen  rigged  for  a  cruise,  steamers  offer- 
ing trips  at  a  reduced  price  to  the  principal  riverside 
villages  for  the  idle  working  people. 

Entire  societies,  in  holiday  attire  and  accompanied 
by  fanfares,  embarked  upon  these  little  boats.  A  great, 
noisy,  demonstrative  gaiety,  a  pressing  haste,  a  fever 
of  excitement  exhilarated  the  emancipated  populace, 
a  legion  of  accidental  and  inexperienced  sailors.  Fam- 
ilies joked  with  each  other  on  the  shore  about  parcels 
that  had  been  left  in  saloons.  Choral  societies  sang 
in  double  quick  time  after  the  signal  for  departure 
had  been  given,  and  one  or  another  boat,  having  un- 


HEMIXBM  6i 

moored,  left  the  shore  and  tacked  majestically  before 
gaining  the  current  in  the  middle  of  the  river. 

The  yacht  upon  which  the  Dobouziez  and  their 
guests  had  embarked  belonged  to  Bejard,  a  great 
ship-owner  and  wholesale  merchant  of  the  city.  He 
had  placed  his  elegant  and  spacious  boat  at  the  service 
of  the  Dobouziez's,  and  in  exchange  accepted  their  in- 
vitation to  be  one  of  the  party. 

The  yacht  weighed  anchor,  to  the  great  joy  of  Lau- 
rent. 

The  Scheldt!  With  what  emotion  the  boy  saw  it 
again!  Another  old  and  good  friend  of  his  father's 
day.  How  many  times  had  they  not  walked,  the  two 
Paridaels,  on  the  tree-planted  quays,  making  a  halt 
now  and  then  in  one  of  the  little  restaurants,  so  well 
frequented  on  Sunday  afternoons  that  the  doors  were 
not  wide  enough  to  accommodate  the  crowd  of  patrons 
who  entered  through  the  windows,  after  climbing  a 
little  portable  staircase  set  against  the  wall  outside. 
There,  if  one  could  find  a  table,  how  nice  it  was  to 
follow  the  movements  of  the  strollers  on  the  quay  and 
the  sails  on  the  water!  What  a  sweet  freshness  was 
in  the  air  at  twilight !  How  many  years  had  gone  by 
without  his  having  seen  his  beloved  river. 

But  it  was  the  first  time  that  Laurent  had  sailed  upon 
it,  and  the  new  impressions  allayed  his  regrets. 

The  yacht,  after  having  turned  about  with  the  co- 
quetry of  a  bird  that  tries  its  wings  before  taking  flight, 
found  the  channel  and  stole  away,  under  redoubled 
pressure  of  steam.  The  panorama  of  the  great  city 
became  visible  at  first  in  all  its  length,  and  then  be- 
trayed the  audacious  and  grandiose  proportions  of  its 
monuments.  It  was  as  if  the  city  appeared  out  of  the 
earth.    The  trees  on  the  quays  shot  forth  their  leafy 


62  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

tops,  then  the  roofs  of  the  houses  appeared  above  the 
foHage;  the  piles  of  the  churches,  surging  above  the 
high  houses,  looked  across  the  roofs  of  warehouses, 
markets,  historic  halls,  higher  and  always  higher, 
towers,  donjons,  campaniles,  pointing,  mounting,  seem- 
ing to  climb  the  sky,  till  the  moment  came  when  they 
all  ceased,  vanquished,  breathless,  except  the  glorious 
tower  of  the  cathedral.  That  alone  continued  its 
ascension,  leaving  far  behind  the  highest  of  the  others. 
Again!  Again!  In  its  turn  it  abandons  the  attempt. 
It  overhangs  the  city  and  towers  above  the  country. 
The  aerial  and  lacy  belfry  surpasses  all  its  rivals,  so 
high  that  one  can  now  see  nothing  else.  Antwerp  is 
eclipsed  by  a  bend  in  the  river ;  the  tower,  like  a  proud 
lighthouse,  marks  the  location  of  the  powerful  me- 
tropolis. And  Laurent  contemplated  the  tower  of 
Notre  Dame  until  it  melted,  slowly,  into  the  far  dis- 
tance where  the  blue  horizon  paled. 

Then  the  devout  passenger  began  to  look  at  the  banks 
of  the  river;  clayey  polders,  reddish  brickyards  among 
green  dykes;  white  villas  curtained  by  trees,  whose 
vast  lawns,  descending  gently  to  the  banks,  afforded 
a  perspective  from  the  river.  But,  more  than  all  else, 
the  Scheldt  itself  made  an  impression  upon  the  boy. 
He  filled  his  heart  with  it  through  his  eyes,  his  nostrils, 
his  ears,  with  the  avidity  of  an  exile  on  the  eve  of 
banishment;  he  drank  in  pictures  that  were  to  be  the 
stuff  of  his  dreams  during  so  many  to-morrows. 

Leaning  against  the  rail  at  the  stern,  he  amused 
himself  with  the  foamy  back- wash  of  their  wake,  with 
a  flock  of  sea  gulls,  battering  down  upon  the  water, 
calling  each  other  with  a  harsh  cry,  with  the  bulging, 
heavily  laden  lighters  which  passed  by  the  yacht,  with 
sails  that  were  like  landmarks  in  the  far  reaches  of  the 


HEMIXEM  63 

distance.  Then  Laurent  awoke  to  his  surroundings, 
to  the  bustle  on  the  bridge,  to  the  work  being  done  by 
three  or  four  stalwart  looking  sailors  picked  from 
among  the  most  robust  in  Monsieur  Bejard's  crews — 
for,  being  the  founder  of  a  line  of  steamers  running 
between  Antwerp  and  Melbourne  and  Antwerp  and 
Batavia,  the  owner  of  the  yacht  owned  more  serious 
craft  than  his  plaything. 

"Do  you  see  that  hull?"  Bejard  was  asking  Made- 
moiselle Dobouziez,  not  far  from  where  Laurent  was 
standing,  pointing  to  the  dockyards  on  the  right  bank. 
"Excuse  me,  mademoiselle;  hull  is  the  technical  word 
for  the  skeleton  of  a  boat  under  construction.  That  one 
IS  the  embryo  which  is  to  become  a  vessel  of  nine  hun- 
dred tons,  equipped  in  a  fashion  never  before  seen, 
the  pearl  of  our  merchant  fleet.  It  will  be  called  the 
Regina  if,  in  a  year's  time,  you  will  do  us  the  honor 
of  being  its  godmother."    And  he  bowed  politely. 

"In  one  year !  We  shall  have  time  to  think  it  over. 
Monsieur  Bejard.  And  do  you  not  find  me  a  little  lean 
and  young  to  hold  a  beau  as  corpulent  as  your  boat  over 
the  baptismal  fount?  I  who  do  not  weigh  as  much 
as  a  small  cask !  For  I  had  myself  weighed  the  other 
day  at  the  factory,  like  any  keg  of  stearine.  Suppose 
some  misfortune  were  to  befall  my  godson!" 

"Oh !"  said  Bejard,  with  the  laugh  of  one  who  plays 
a  sure  hand,  "nothing  ever  happens  to  the  Southern 
Cross  boats.  They  are  all  born  under  a  good  star. 
Besides,  they  are  insured!" 

"That  makes  no  difference,"  answered  Gina,  "I  have 
the  pride  of  a  godmother,  and  all  the  insurance  in  the 
world  would  not  make  amends  for  my  chagrin  in 
knowing  my  great  godson  engulfed  in  the  bottom  of 
the  sea,  gone  to  the  kingdom  of  the  madrepores.    Vrn 


64  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

sorry;  I  give  you  back  your  hull."  And  laughing, 
she  ran  to  join  a  neighboring  group  in  which  her 
friends,  the  Vanderlings,  were  chattering. 

Hearing  Gina's  clear  voice,  Laurent  turned  toward 
the  speakers.  He  regarded  the  proprietor  of  the  yacht 
attentively. 

Bejard  had,  in  addition  to  the  haughty  manner  com- 
mon to  the  great  merchants  of  Antwerp,  a  furtive 
expression  in  his  eyes  and  a  crafty  manner  of  speech. 
Forty-five  years  old,  of  medium  height,  dry  and 
gnarled,  a  yellowish,  almost  watery  complexion,  a 
hooked  nose,  long  reddish  beard  and  auburn  hair 
brushed  back  from  his  forehead,  thick  lips,  grey  eyes, 
an  arched  forehead  and  distorted  ears;  such  was  the 
physical  aspect  of  the  man.  In  his  manner  and  his 
features  there  was  both  the  shrewdness  of  a  musty 
Jew  behind  the  counter  in  a  sordid  alley  of  Frankfort 
or  Amsterdam,  and  the  audacity  of  an  adventurer  who 
has  skimmed  the  seas  and  traded  in  vague,  distant 
lands.  But  this  mixture  of  braggadocio  and  honeyed 
urbanity  was  irritating  in  its  atrocious  discordance. 
His  expression  was  protean  and  desperate;  his  dull 
eyes  gave  the  lie  to  a  sharp  word,  or  his  crafty,  cloy- 
ing voice  contradicted  the  malicious,  hard  gleam  of 
his  grey  eyes.  Withal,  he  was  correct,  well  bred,  a 
facile  conversationalist,  a  prodigal  host. 

He  was  not  well  liked  in  society,  but  he  was  sought 
assiduously,  people  suspected  him,  but  sought  to  pro- 
pitiate him.  Through  his  fortune,  his  activity,  his 
address  he  had  become  an  influence  in  the  world  of 
business,  and  now  he  was  seeking  to  cut  a  figure  in 
the  world  of  politics  and  that  of  art  and  literature  in 
Antwerp.  He  paraded  the  most  complete  tolerance, 
extolled  broad  ideas,  claimed  tg  be  a  free-trader  and 


HEMIXEM  65 

a  utilitarian,  swore  by  Cobden  and  Guizot,  affected, 
during  business  hours,  the  manners  of  a  Yankee,  but, 
having  left  the  atmosphere  of  commerce,  he  aped  the 
etiquette  and  the  bearing  of  a  perfect  "EngHsh  gen- 
tleman." 

His  origin  and  that  of  his  fortune  was  far  from 
being  commensurate  with  his  actual  prestige.  Cred- 
ible tales,  strange  and  disquieting  as  legends,  were  told 
of  him.  With  an  utter  detachment  and  perfect  seren- 
ity he  had  just  called  Gina's  attention  to  the  Fulton 
dockyard.  And  nevertheless,  the  mere  sight  of  that 
locality  should  have  seared  his  heart,  or  at  least  shamed 
him  into  modesty,  so  bound  up  was  it  with  some  de- 
plorable pages  of  his  career. 

Many  years  before,  his  father  had  been  the  direc- 
tor of  that  same  dockyard  when  unheard  of  abuses 
and  monstrous  acts  which  had  been  committed  there 
were  brought  to  light. 

Succumbing  to  a  perverted  imagination,  rare  enough 
among  the  common  people,  the  workmen  in  the  dock- 
yard had  amused  themselves  by  martyrising  their 
young  apprentices,  threatening  them  with  even  more 
atrocious  tortures  or  with  death  itself,  should  they 
ever  attempt  to  divulge  these  abominable  practices. 
The  victims,  terrorized  as  the  "fags"  in  English  col- 
leges used  to  be,  could  only  succeed  in  escaping  these 
tortures  by  paying  over  to  their  tormentors  the  greater 
part  of  their  wages.  Finally,  however,  the  whole  pro- 
ceedings came  to  light. 

The  scandal  was  tremendous. 

The  band  of  torturers  were  lined  up  in  court,  and, 
as  long  as  the  trial  lasted,  a  special  detail  of  police- 
men and  soldiers  had  difficulty  in  protecting  them  from 
the  reprisals  of  the  crowd,  especially  from  the  rag- 


66  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

ing  women,  whose  nails  would  have  torn  them  to 
pieces.  The  court  proceedings  had  revealed  abomin- 
able mysteries;  sham  crucifixions,  wholesale  flagella- 
tions, drownings  pushed  almost  to  the  last  extremity, 
a  veritable  auto-da-fe.  Children  had  been  buried  for 
hours  up  to  their  necks,  others  had  been  forced  to  eat 
revolting  things,  still  others  had  been  forced  to  fight 
with  each  other,  though  they  cherished  no  animosity. 

The  verdict  removed  any  suspicion  of  direct  com- 
plicity with  his  underlings  on  the  part  of  Monsieur  Be- 
jard,  but  his  negligence  was  made  manifest  in  a  most 
crushing  manner.  The  company  having  dismissed  him 
from  its  employ,  the  public  was  not  yet  satisfied,  and, 
confusing  Bejard's  father  with  the  criminals  who  had 
been  sentenced  to  hard  labor,  forced  him  to  leave  the 
city.  One  circumstance  that  had  been  established  by 
all  the  testimony  contributed  to  their  ostracism.  The 
disgraced  director's  son,  then  a  schoolboy  fifteen 
years  old,  had  presided  more  than  once  at  these  specta- 
cles, and,  upon  the  oath  of  those  concerned,  took  pleas- 
ure in  them.  Little  more  would  have  been  necessary  to 
make  the  public,  in  their  great  excitement,  urge  the 
imprisonment  of  the  crafty  sneak  who  had  taken  such 
good  care  not  to  denounce  to  his  father  the  people  re- 
sponsible for  these  pleasures. 

Twenty-five  years  later  it  was  rumored  that  Bejard, 
junior,  was  coming  back  to  his  natal  city.  His  father 
had  become  wealthy  in  Texas,  and  had  left  him  im- 
portant plantations  of  rice  and  sugar  cane,  cultivated 
by  an  army  of  blacks.  On  the  eve  of  the  Civil  War, 
Freddy  Bejard  liquidated  a  part  of  his  holdings  and 
placed  the  proceeds  in  the  principal  European  banks. 
He  stayed  in  America  for  the  beginning  of  the  cam- 
paign less  because  of  sympathy  with  the  slavery  party 


HEMIXEM  67 

than  to  protect  his  remaining  property.  He  was  under 
fire  as  a  prairie  guerilla  against  the  northerners.  Fi- 
nally, after  peace  had  been  declared,  many  times  a 
millionaire  in  spite  of  his  great  losses,  he  returned  to 
Antwerp,  dreaming,  perhaps  of  clearing  his  repu- 
tation from  the  blots  and  stains  of  the  past. 

This  was  what  was  known  about  Bejard  and  his  an- 
tecedents, and  he  himself  had  avowed  it,  with  an  air 
of  boasting,  in  his  moments  of  good  humor. 

His  ostentation  and  the  magnificent  enterprises 
through  which  he  contributed  to  the  superficial  pros- 
perity of  his  city,  opened  all  doors  to  him,  at  least  those 
of  the  business  world,  for  the  aristocracy  and  the 
higher  patrician  bourgeoisie  held  him  in  as  shabby  re- 
pute as  did  the  common  people. 

If  the  flatterers  of  success,  the  admirers  of  "clever 
business  men,"  the  speculators  bowed  down  before 
his  millions,  forgot  and  buried  the  past,  the  most  es- 
sentially local  classes,  the  stable  population,  the  old 
families  of  Antwerp  remembered  former  scandals  and 
cherished  an  inveterate  antipathy  for  Freddy  Bejard. 

Thus  they  had  gone  as  far  as  to  claim  that,  enraged 
by  the  victory  of  the  North,  whose  abolition  movement 
had  cut  into  his  fortune,  he  had,  far  from  freeing  his 
slaves  at  the  conclusion  of  the  war,  sold  them  to  a 
Spanish  slave  dealer  in  the  Antilles,  and  that  he  had 
had  to  leave  his  adopted  country  in  order  to  evade 
the  law.  Another  version  had  it  that,  rather  than  obey 
the  decree  by  which  the  slaves  were  freed,  he  had 
slaughtered  his  down  to  the  very  last  one. 

The  business  men  treated  all  these  stories  as  old 
women's  tales  invented  by  jealous  people  and  by  the 
political  adversaries  of  the  parvenu.  Monsieur  Dobou- 
ziez  himself,  without  exhibiting  a  fondness  for  Bejard 


68  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

which  it  was  not  his  habit  to  lavish,  could  not  but  admit 
that  the  enterprising  and  courageous  shipowner  was  be- 
ing held  responsible  for  a  fault,  or,  rather,  an  accident, 
that  had  been  expiated  with  enough  pain  by  his  father. 
Saint-Fardier  evinced  for  this  daring  chap  Bejard  the 
admiration  of  a  connoiseur.  He  was  ambitious  to 
serve  him  as  a  ferocious  and  faithful  retriever,  for  he 
approved  of  the  bloodhounds  with  which  the  planters 
tracked  down  their  fugitive  slaves.  At  bottom  he 
chafed  under  the  scruples  of  the  correct  Dobouziez; 
his  proper  partner  would  have  been  Bejard. 

Laurent  had  never  seen  Bejard  before,  and  he  was 
ignorant  of  his  reputation.  And,  nevertheless,  an  un- 
speakable uneasiness  took  possession  of  him  in  that 
man's  presence.  He  had  a  sad  presentiment,  his  heart 
contracted,  and  when  he  had  turned  away  from  the 
shipowner  to  resume  his  contemplation  of  the  land- 
scape, the  banks  of  the  river  seemed  to  exhale  a  fatidi- 
cal sadness. 

Just  as  the  Fulton  dockyard  was  about  to  disappear 
behind  a  band  in  the  Scheldt,  the  complicated  frame- 
work surrounding  the  hull  took  on  the  appearance  of 
an  enormous  skeleton  to  which  clung,  here  and  there, 
strips  of  flesh  and  burned  clothing.  But  this  sinister 
illusion  lasted  for  but  a  moment,  and  the  charm  of 
other  parts  of  the  landscape  reassured  the  momentarily 
troubled  spirit  of  Paridael. 

After  the  illusion  had  passed,  he  attached  no  im- 
portance to  it,  but  later  he  was  destined  to  recall  it 
when,  with  a  redoubled  horror,  it  occurred  again  in 
the  most  tragic  moment  of  his  life. 

They  had  spared  themselves  the  trouble  of  pre- 
senting Laurent  to  the  proprietor  of  the  yacht.  Sev- 
eral times  Bejard  threw  a  keen  and  distrustful  glance 


HEMIXEM  69 

at  the  boy,  who,  embarrassed  by  his  new  clothes  and 
staying  by  himself,  was  continually  contemplating  the 
Flemish  scenery,  too  flat  and  too  unpicturesque  to  be 
of  interest  to  an  habitual  tourist.  The  shipowner 
himself  inquired  about  the  intruder,  having  made  ready 
to  stop  the  boat  and  land  him. 

"Let  him  be,"  said  the  elegant  Saint-Fardier, 
laughing  at  his  annoyance,  "he's  a  poor  young  rela- 
tion of  the  Dobouziez'.  They  are  sending  him  away  to- 
morrow, and  no  doubt  that  is  why  he  is  so  taciturn.'* 

"I  understand,"  answered  Bejard,  not  laying  claim, 
by  that  exclamation,  to  understanding  the  orphan's 
feeHngs,  but  simply  approving  of  the  isolation  in 
which  he  had  been  left.  And  reassured  of  the 
identity  of  this  worthless  person,  he  ceased  worrying 
about  him. 

In  the  natural  order  of  events,  the  little  passenger 
in  the  stern  would  have  held  no  claim  to  the  atten- 
tion of  Croesus.  But  had  he  foreseen  the  decisive  role 
which  the  scamp  was  to  play  in  the  future !  The  other 
passengers,  informed  about  Laurent  in  equally  indif- 
ferent terms,  accorded  him  no  more  attention.  He 
did  not  notice  their  disdain  today.  He  rejoiced  in 
being  able  to  draw  in,  at  his  ease,  the  full  raciness  of 
his  beloved  land. 

Cousin  Lydia,  wearing  a  gown  of  Nile  green 
trimmed  with  ivy,  and  looking  like  a  walking  arbor, 
was  exhausting  her  breath  in  schooling  the  host  of 
servants  who  accompanied  the  society  with  baskets  of 
provisions.  Cousin  William  was  conferring  with  Be- 
jard, Saint-Fardier,  and  the  eminent  lawyer  Vander- 
ling.  If  these  grave  gentlemen  honored  the  Scheldt 
by  looking  at  it,  it  was  only  to  discuss  the  profit  that 
a  group  of  capitalists  were  drawing  from  a  manufac- 


70  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

tory  of  chemical  matches  or  of  guano  that  had  been  es- 
tabHshed  upon  its  banks. 

Regina,  clothed  in  tea-rose  muslin,  her  curly  head 
topped  by  a  large  straw  hat  turned  back  a  la  Lamballe, 
was  the  center  and  the  life  of  a  group  of  young  girls 
who  amused  themselves  by  making  piquant  remarks 
about  a  circle  of  young  men  in  the  midst  of  which 
were  enthroned  the  Saint-Fardier  brothers.  The  two 
little  Vanderling  girls,  blonde,  plump,  loquacious  and 
very  alluring,  had  taken  their  eye. 

The  yacht  glided  up  to  the  pier  of  Hemixem.  Once 
landed,  the  program  was  accomplished  without  impedi^ 
ment.  During  their  walk,  the  excursionists  occupied 
themselves  chiefly  by  ascertaining  the  names  of  the 
proprietors  of  the  principal  villas  and  estates.  The 
young  fellows  guessed  at  the  contents  of  the  stables, 
and  the  young  girls  exclaimed  over  the  beautiful  white 
swans  and  red,  red  roses.  And  when  the  whole  troupe 
stopped  with  some  respect  before  a  gilded  grille  at  the 
foot  of  a  lordly  avenue  at  the  end  of  which  could  be 
seen,  across  the  lawns,  a  beautiful  renaissance  pa- 
vilion : 

"Yes,  it's  very  handsome,"  said  Bejard,  who,  with 
his  inseparable  chum  Dupoissy,  had  rejoined  them,  "It 
belongs  to  Baron  de  Waerlant,  and  it  is  very  hand- 
some. But  it  is  mortgaged  up  to  the  hilt,  and  one  can 
have  the  whole  thing  for  fifty  thousand  francs  above 
his  debts,  which  amount  to  about  a  hundred  thousand 
francs.    So  if  you  like  it,  buy  it !" 

"A  just  punishment  for  a  do-nothing  aristocrat,  a 
libertine,"  added  Dupoissy,  in  a  nasal  tone  like  that  of 
the  chanter  of  funeral  offices. 

These  figures  threw  cold  water  upon  the  admiration 
of  these  well-bred  people  who  one  and  all  laid  claim 


HEMIXEM  71 

to  a  solid  position.  They  hurried  on  their  way, 
ashamed  of  their  condescension  toward  this  real  estate, 
feeling  a  little  as  if  the  proprietor,  reduced  to  the  last 
ditch,  was  going  to  make  his  appearance  from  a  grave 
and  borrow  money  from  them. 

After  an  hour's  walk  under  the  blue  cupola  in  which 
carolling  larks  were  darting,  through  fields  of  after- 
math exhaling  perfume  from  every  rick,  all  of  them, 
without  daring  to  say  so,  were  beginning  to  have 
enough  of  the  blue  and  green,  of  the  little  farms  and 
the  big  estates  whose  owners  they  did  not  know.  A 
halt  was  made  in  a  little  wood  of  fir  trees,  the  only 
one  in  the  district,  a  horrible  little  artificial  grotto 
placed  there  by  the  proprietor,  the  Dobouziez'  chief 
clerk,  a  fellow  who  understood  "country  pleasures'* 
and  "al-fresco  breakfasts."  They  had  skirted  superb 
avenues  of  generously  shady  beeches  and  oaks,  all  be- 
seeching them  to  halt.  But  they  must  needs  have  a 
wood,  even  though  that  wood  were  wretched  and 
scraggly. 

The  ladies'  parasols  supplemented  the  miserly  shade 
of  the  firs.  The  provisions  were  unpacked,  and  they 
ate  cold  food  and  drank  warm  drinks,  the  ingenious 
apparatus  for  freezing  the  champagne  having  refused 
to  work,  as  such  things  usually  do.  Nevertheless,  the 
luncheon  was  very  gay,  subjects  for  conversation  not 
being  lacking,  thanks  to  the  cursed  apparatus  and  the 
heat.  The  bugs  and  caterpillars  that  fell  into  plates 
and  upon  the  necks  of  the  ladies  gave  Gaston  and 
Athanasius  Saint-Fardier  an  opportunity  to  remove 
them  from  Angele  and  Cora  Vanderling,  near  whom 
they  had  placed  themselves,  and  whose  coquetry  held 
them  fast. 

A  company  of  little  peasants  returning  from  high 


^2  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

mass  were  regaining  their  hamlet  at  an  accelerated 
pace.  At  first  timid  and  defiant,  they  halted,  and  after 
having  consulted  together,  red  as  the  neck  of  a  turkey- 
cock,  they  drew  close,  pushing  each  other,  and  the 
crowd  filled  the  boys'  pockets  and  the  girls'  aprons 
with  the  remains  of  the  meat-patties,  sandwiches,  badly 
broken  bones  and  carcasses  of  chicken,  and,  as  they 
were  about  to  leave,  called  them  back  to  put  the  hardly 
opened  bottles  of  wine  under  their  arms. 

This  interlude  diverted  the  walkers  until  they  came 
to  the  estate  of  the  Dobouziez'.  Cousin  William,  a 
good  walker,  would  have  liked  to  take  the  longest  road 
back  to  the  dock.  His  guests  wanted  first  to  know 
whether  it  was  shadier,  and  whether  there  was  any- 
thing else  to  see  but  fields  and  trees. 

But  as,  after  searching  his  memory.  Monsieur  Do- 
bouziez  remembered  no  other  curiosities  than  an  aban- 
doned distillery  and  the  military  depot  of  Saint  Ber- 
nard, the  majority  wanted  to  retrace  their  way  by  the 
shortest  path  at  the  risk  of  stumbling  upon  the  penni- 
less baron. 

Having  reached  the  house,  and  while  waiting  for  din- 
ner, the  ladies  went  upstairs  to  freshen  up,  and  the 
gentlemen  went  off  to  look  at  the  grounds. 

At  dinner,  which  was  served  in  a  fashion  to  satisfy 
folk  who  did  not  care  for  rustic  gastronomy,  all  were 
unanimous  in  praising  their  luncheon  in  the  woods, 
and  the  younger  folk,  whose  craving  for  food  had  now 
been  satisfied,  feigned  astonishment  at  their  appetites. 
"It  is  true  that  the  walk  and  the  fresh  air  .  .  .  " 

They  took  coffee  on  the  terrace.  Bejard  took  Gina 
to  the  piano  and  begged  her  to  sing.  Laurent  went 
down  into  the  garden,  allured  by  the  delicious  evening- 
tide,  the  breeze  from  the  Scheldt,  the  perfume  of  the 


HEMIXEM  73 

thickets,  the  sensuous  and  heady  silence  that  teased 
the  cry  of  the  crickets  and  dulled  the  oblique,  velvety 
flight  of  the  bats,  terrified  by  the  unwonted  presence 
of  the  masters  of  this  deserted  country  place. 

The  voice  of  Gina,  clear  and  pearled,  reached  him 
at  the  other  end  of  the  garden.  She  sang  the  waltz 
from  Romeo  et  Juliette  divinely;  the  interpretation 
was  superior  to  the  song.  She  gave  it  the  sincerity 
that  it  lacked,  she  treated  it  with  the  cavalier  spirit  of 
a  virtuouso.  She  parodied  its  sophistication  by  exag- 
gerating the  rhythm  to  such  an  extent  that  one  could 
have  danced  to  it.  Laurent  felt  that  Gina  was  showing 
herself  to  be  too  much  the  woman  of  that  waltz,  the 
woman  of  the  void,  of  the  vortex,  of  intoxication,  of 
rarity,  of  velleity.  Without  having  read  Shakespeare, 
Laurent  detested  this  tinkling  music,  thought  its  trill- 
ing out  of  place :  this  song,  too  gay,  too  laughing,  be- 
came worse  than  an  air  of  bravura,  an  air  of  bravado. 

The  listeners,  Bejard  and  the  Saint-Fardiers,  ap- 
plauded and  called  for  more.  Laurent  tried  to  ap- 
proach the  beautiful  singer  to  say  farewell  to  her.  The 
first  morning  train  was  to  take  him  away.  He  had 
so  many  things  to  say  to  his  cousin.  He  wanted  to 
thank  her  for  her  kindness  of  the  past  week;  to  ask 
her  to  remember  him  from  time  to  time.  He  could 
only  stammer  the  simplest  of  goodbyes.  She  negli- 
gently gave  him  her  finger  tips,  not  turning  toward 
him,  continuing  to  skirmish  with  Bejard.  Laurent 
was  beginning  to  despair  of  attracting  her  attention 
and  of  obtaining  a  word  with  her,  a  word  sweet  to 
keep  in  memory,  when  she  threw  him  with  a  coolness 
and  a  self-possession  truly  cruel  a :  "Goodnight,  Lau- 
rent ;  be  good  and  study  hard !" 

Monsieur  Dobouziez  could  not  have  said  it  better. 


VIII 
IN   SOCIETY 

Regina  was  to  enter  society.  Six  hundred  invita- 
tions were  sent  out ;  two  hundred  more  than  had  been 
issued  for  the  last  ball  given  by  the  governor  of  the 
province !  In  the  city  the  only  subject  of  conversation 
was  the  great  event  that  was  being  prepared  for.  If 
Madame  Van  Belt  met  Madame  Van  Bilt,  they 
broached  the  important  question  immediately  after  the 
usual  salutations  had  been  disposed  of.  They  inquired 
what  each  other's  daughters  were  going  to  wear.  Ma- 
dam Van  Bal  dreamed  of  eclipsing  Madam  Van  Bol, 
and  Madam  Van  Bui  enjoyed  talking  it  over  with  Ma- 
dam Van  Brul,  her  most  intimate  friend,  who  had, 
doubtless  through  an  oversight,  not  been  invited. 
Madam  Van  Brand,  also  omitted,  pretended  to  have 
sent  her  regrets,  although  she  had  not  received  even  the 
shadow  of  an  invitation.  But  they  were  all  partial  to 
details,  and  when  they  could  not  obtain  them  from  their 
friends,  they  tried  to  drag  them  by  main  force  from 
the  tradesmen.  Florists,  restaurateurs,  confection- 
ers; the  Dobouziez*  monopolized  them  and  retained 
them  all. 

"They  have  them  all,"  said  the  Saint-Fardiers.  Other 
clients  resigned  all  hope  of  being  served.  Even  the 
highest  in  the  social  scale,  if  they  were  insistent,  drew 

74 


IN  SOCIETY  75 

forth  this  reply.  "Impossible,  madame,  for  that  day 
we  have  the  ball  at  the  DobouziezM"  The  caterer, 
Balduyn,  entrusted  with  the  arrangement  of  the  buffet, 
prepared  prodigies.  All  the  chairs  at  the  furniture 
stores  and  the  caterers'  had  been  requisitioned.  But 
nothing  equalled  the  rush  at  the  dressmakers'.  Even 
in  Brussels  they  cut,  fitted,  sewed,  hemmed,  embroid- 
ered and  ruffled  yards  of  goods  in  preparation  for  the 
inauguration  of  the  social  season  in  Antwerp.  What 
ill-humor,  enervation,  caprice  and  exigencies  these 
dressmakers  had  to  undergo  because  of  their  beautiful 
clients  will  be  placed  to  their  credit  in  paradise,  and, 
while  waiting,  were  paid  for  in  thousand  franc  bills  on 
this  earth. 

The  hosts  were  no  less  excited  than  the  guests. 
Felicite  had  never  been  so  disagreeable.  She  exer- 
cised her  tyrannical  authority  upon  the  reinforcements 
of  servants  and  workmen  to  whom  the  preparations 
had  been  entrusted.  Madam  Dobouziez  could  not  stay 
still  for  a  moment ;  her  increasing  embonpoint  grieved 
her ;  thanks  to  the  confusion  and  the  exercise,  she  would 
lose  a  few  pounds.  Gina  and  Cousin  William  were 
more  reasonable.  Together  they  had  curbed  the  list 
of  guests.  Gina  was  radiant;  the  trouble  everyone 
was  taking  on  her  account  flattered  her  and  exalted 
her  still  more  in  her  own  opinion;  from  time  to  time 
she  deigned  to  be  pleased. 

This  monster  ball  occupied  the  thoughts  of  the 
clerks  in  the  factory,  and  even  the  workmen  talked 
of  it  during  their  hour  of  respite,  as  they  drank  their 
cold  coffee.  These  good  people  did  not  know  exactly 
what  was  going  to  take  place,  but  for  some  days  there 
had  been  such  a  procession  of  vans,  of  boxes,  cartons 
and  cases  before  the  delivery  entrance  that  even  the 


76  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

least  lazy  among  them  had  been  distracted  from  their 
work. 

Happily,  Laurent  was  away  at  college  for  there 
was  no  room  for  him  in  his  garret ! 

Invitations  had  been  sent  to  the  three  chief  clerks, 
to  the  bookkeeper,  the  man  of  country  revels,  to  the 
cashier  and  the  correspondent.  This  flattered  the 
whole  body  of  penmen,  and  the  office  boy  manifested 
pride  in  the  favor  extended  to  his  superior  officers. 
The  three  elect  were  to  represent  their  colleagues. 
During  business  hours,  when  they  knew  that  Dobou- 
ziez  was  at  home,  they  discussed  in  a  very  serious  man- 
ner points  of  etiquette,  convention,  and  social  usage. 
The  three  privileged  men  first  consulted  their  com- 
rades about  the  word  of  the  letter  that  had  to  be 
sent  to  Monsieur  and  Madam  Dobouziez.  Was  it  to  be 
addressed  to  Madame  or  Monsieur?  Having  settled 
that  point,  they  had  to  agree  upon  other  points  of  eti- 
quette. Should  they  wear  chamois  gloves,  or  pearl 
gray  kids?  Should  they  or  should  they  not  perfume 
their  handkerchiefs?  The  office  boy,  having  spoken 
of  patchouli  as  being  a  very  aristocratic  scent,  raised 
such  a  hue  and  cry  that  he  did  not  dare  risk  any  fur- 
ther remarks.  And  afterwards?  Did  they  have  to 
pay  a  party-call?    And  if  so,  when? 

"Oh !  let  'afterwards*  take  care  of  itself.  We  shall 
see  when  the  time  comes!"  said  the  bookkeeper, 
the  lover  of  the  fields,  the  man  of  the  little  fir 
wood. 

It  is  the  eve — it  is  the  day — it  is  the  evening  of  the 
ball.  The  floors  are  waxed,  the  chandeliers  illumined, 
lackeys  in  full  uniform  take  their  posts.  At  nine 
o'clock  a  first  carriage  risks  itself  in  the  tortuous  and 
badly  paved  street  leading  to  the  factory,  then  a  sec- 


IN  SOCIETY  yy 

ond,  and  then  a  long  line  begins  to  form.    It  begins  to 
look  like  a  nocturnal  Longchamps. 

The  vile,  stagnant  drain  which,  the  cholera  having 
passed  away,  the  owners  no  longer  thought  of  closing 
over,  had  never  been  bordered  by  such  a  cavalcade. 
In  its  perplexity,  it  forgot  to  poison  the  wintry  air. 

The  gossips,  their  chubby  babies  in  their  arms, 
amused  themselves  by  watching,  from  the  doorsteps 
of  their  hovels,  the  procession  of  carriages,  and  tried 
vainly  to  look  through  their  misty  windows  as  they 
passed,  and  see  the  beautiful  women  lounging  in  their 
little  rolling  rooms.  But  the  poor  women  saw  noth- 
ing but  the  light  of  the  lamps,  the  shining  gleam  of  the 
harness,  the  flashing  of  curb  chains,  the  cockade  on 
the  coachman's  hat.  The  horses  whinnied  and  sent 
their  white  breath  out  into  the  night.  The  little  Ma- 
donna of  the  crossroads,  reduced  to  the  illumination 
of  a  single  vacillating  candle,  seemed  as  poor  and  as 
humble  as  her  devout  people. 

The  factory  did  not  abstain  from  labor,  however. 
The  night  shift  had  taken  the  place  of  the  day  work- 
ers, and  were  busy  feeding  the  furnaces,  for  the  stuff 
must  never  be  allowed  to  chill.  Toil  and  sweat,  O 
brave  "prolos,"  while  your  masters  are  amusing  them- 
selves ! 

In  getting  out  of  their  carriages  under  the  porte- 
cochere,  the  muffled-up  guests  had,  at  the  bottom  of  the 
vast  back  courtyard,  a  momentary  vision  of  the  fac- 
tory walls,  and  could  hear  the  drowsy  but  sleepless 
machines,  and  an  odour  of  fat  assailed  their  nostrils. 
But  instantly  the  great  glass  doors  opened  upon  the 
vestibule  filled  with  flowers  and  plants,  and  the  radia- 
tors sent  forth  a  gust  of  warm,  caressing  air. 

The  three  gentlemen  from  the  office  were  the  first 


78  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

to  arrive.  That  afternoon  they  had  hired,  at  joint 
expense,  a  coupe  from  the  livery  stable,  although  the 
factory  was  but  fifteen  minutes'  walk  from  their  lodg- 
ings. The  office  must  be  represented  with  dignity! 
They  left  their  overcoats  in  the  waiting  room,  greatly 
confused  by  the  attention  which  the  lackeys  accorded 
them.  It  was  even  necessary  for  the  footmen  to  insist 
before  the  three  friends  consented  to  accept  their 
services. 

Madame  Dobouziez,  who  was  finishing  her  toilette, 
hastened  to  come  down  to  the  reception  room.  A  foot- 
man announced  the  trio  and  showed  them  into  the 
room.  The  lady  started  to  come  forward  and  meet 
these  too  punctual  guests,  but,  when  they  had  pre- 
sented themselves  as  three  of  the  columns  of  the  house 
of  Dobouziez  and  Co.,  the  welcoming  smile  with  which 
Madame  Dobouziez  had  greeted  them  began  to  visibly 
contract.  She  condescended  to  inquire  about  their 
health ;  they  bowed  and  bowed  again  to  express  their 
satisfaction.  They  were  delighted  to  see  that  their 
employer's  wife  had  never  enjoyed  better  health! 

At  this  point  of  the  conversation,  Madame  Dobou- 
ziez feigned  the  necessity  of  giving  some  orders,  and, 
after  apologising  to  them,  left  the  room.  She  went  up- 
stairs to  add  a  rose  and  some  golden  combs  to  her 
coiffure,  which  Regina  had  made  decidedly  too  simple. 

However,  the  crowd,  the  really  distinguished  guests, 
began  to  arrive.  Madame  Dobouziez  repeated  to  sa- 
tiety the  three  or  four  formulas  of  welcome  consonant 
with  the  rank  of  their  guests. 

Among  them  was  the  Governor  of  the  province,  the 
Burgomaster  of  Antwerp  and  his  wife,  the  Military 
Governor  of  the  city  and  his  wife,  the  Commander-in- 
Chief  of  the  Province  and  his  wife,  the  Presiding  Jus- 


IN  SOCIETY  79 

tice  of  the  Court  of  the  First  Instance  and  his  wife,  the 
Colonel  of  the  Civic  Guard  and  his  wife,  the  superior 
grades  of  the  army,  but  especially  Monsieur  du  Million, 
Madame  du  Million,  and  the  young  du  Millions  of  both 
sexes  with  German,  French,  and  Flemish  particles, 
or  with  no  particles  at  all ;  there  were  also  all  the  Vans 
of  commerce,  all  the  Vons  from  the  banks,  Janssens, 
Verbists,  Meyers,  Stevens,  and  Peeters  in  a  body. 
Everybody  was  there  who  possessed  a  negotiable  name, 
a  name  that  could  be  discounted  at  the  banks ;  wealthy 
picture  dealers  jostled  with  usurers,  the  upstart  of 
today  lounged  next  to  the  bankrupt  of  tomorrow. 
Each  guest  could  have  made  good  an  income  of  twenty- 
five  thousand  francs,  or  a  capital  of  two  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  invested  in  business.  A  judicious  and  sa- 
gacious proportion.  If  the  names  announced  by  the 
footman  resembled  each  other,  the  bonds  of  identity 
were  even  more  obvious  in  the  people  themselves.  The 
same  black  dress  suits,  the  same  white  ties,  the  same 
opera  hats.  The  same  faces,  too,  for  the  similarity  of 
their  professions,  the  worship  of  money,  gave  them  all 
a  certain  family  resemblance.  The  brands  of  identical 
preoccupations  made  them  all  resemble  each  other,  the 
apoplectic  and  the  ascetic,  the  fat  and  the  thin.  There 
were  gross,  self-satisfied  faces,  imperturbable  and  sol- 
emn, more  tightly  closed  than  the  strong-boxes  of  their 
possessors.  There  were  uneasy,  shrewd,  mobile  faces, 
bucket-shop  faces,  spying  faces,  the  faces  of  choir  boys 
who  gorged  upon  the  remains  of  the  abundant  heca- 
tombs devoured  by  the  high  priests  of  Mercury.  Long, 
narrow  noses,  winking  eyes,  shifty  looks.  These  peo- 
ple were  possessed  with  a  badly  repressed  temptation 
to  scratch  their  beards  as  they  did  when  they  thought 
out  a  business  transaction  or  a  good  deal;  sensual 


8o  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

mouths,  a  vaguely  sardonic  grin,  goose- footed,  bald, 
wearing  massive  rings  consistent  with  their  short, 
stubby  fingers  and  pontificial  stomachs.  Those  who 
spent  most  of  their  time  in  their  offices  were  the  palest, 
others,  travellers  who  were  constantly  moving  about, 
retained  the  tan  of  the  sea  and  the  open  air. 

Despite  their  uniform  clothing,  they  were  distin- 
guishable by  certain  habits :  a  young  stock  broker,  em- 
barrassed by  his  dangling  arms,  manipulated  his  dance 
card  as  he  would  his  memorandum  pad;  a  dealer  in 
novelties  searched  his  pockets  for  samples  of  sachet; 
the  fingers  of  a  manufacturer  of  worsteds  were  mag- 
netically attracted  to  the  upholstery  of  the  chairs  and 
portieres.  Some  of  these  wealthy  people  pushed  their 
haughtiness  and  arrogance  almost  to  the  point  of 
monomania.  Old  man  Brullekens  would  never  touch 
a  piece  of  money,  gold,  silver,  copper,  unless  as  a  pre- 
liminary it  had  been  polished,  scraped  and  cleaned  in 
such  a  fashion  that  not  the  slightest  bit  of  dirt  adhered 
to  it.  A  footman  wore  himself  out  every  day  polish- 
ing up  his  small  change.  By  preference  he  desired 
'freshly  coined  pieces,  and  collected  bills  newly  come 
from  the  bank. 

His  neighbor,  De  Zater,  never  offered  an  ungloved 
hand  to  anyone,  not  even  to  his  children,  and  if  he  were 
to  inadventently  pollute  his  aristocratic  right  hand  by 
touching  that  of  one  of  his  acquaintances,  he  could 
not  rest  until  he  had  washed  it. 

All  were  learned  in  the  arcana  of  commerce,  in  the 
tricks  and  the  legerdemain  that  made  money  pass  from 
other  people's  hands  into  their  own  coffers,  as  if  by 
virtue  of  the  phenomenon  of  endosmose  established 
by  the  physicists;  all  of  them  practised  dupery  and 
legal  theft ;  all  were  experts  in  finesse,  in  composition 


IN  SOCIETY  8i 

under  a  strict  law,  in  the  art  of  evading  the  law  itself. 
Rich,  but  insatiable,  they  wished  to  be  even  richer. 
The  younger  men,  their  heirs,  already  looked  weary, 
care-ridden  and  prematurely  old.  They  had  the  oldish 
foreheads  of  dejected  men  about  town  as  much  worn 
out  by  scheming  as  by  dissipation.  Although  they  were 
in  society,  they  scrutinized  and  interrogated  each  other, 
their  looks  crossed  swords  as  if  it  were  necessary  to 
play  a  careful  game  and  "get"  the  other  fellow.  The 
practice  of  lying  and  of  giving  orders,  the  habit  of 
deprecating  and  appraising  everything,  the  instinct  of 
craftiness  and  greed  enveloped  their  persons  with  a 
feverish  temperature.  They  could  hardly  refrain  from 
being  brusque  even  when  people  were  polite  to  them. 
Their  decorum  was  convulsive,  their  handshake  seemed 
to  feel  the  pulse  of  your  fortune,  and  their  fingers  had 
soft  and  crafty  flexions  like  those  of  a  placid  strangler 
who  is  about  to  twist  the  neck  of  a  fat  chicken.  And 
in  the  very  young,  the  greenhorns,  and  the  fops,  one 
felt  the  humiliation  and  the  timidity  of  novices  an- 
noyed more  because  they  had  not  yet  begun  to  make 
money  than  because  they  could  not  spend  it  as  they 
wished. 

There  was  as  much  monotony  and  professional  re- 
semblance among  the  women.  Only  by  the  variety 
of  plumage  was  the  collective  preoccupation  masked 
and  disguised.  Fat  mammas  were  stufifed  into  corsets 
far  too  tightly  laced;  bilious  matrons  seemed  to  have 
just  broken  a  long  fast,  although  the  price  of  the  ca- 
bochons  illuminating  their  ear  lobes  was  sufficient  to 
feed  fifty  poor  families  for  two  years.  As  for  the 
young  girls,  there  were  tall  ones,  thin  ones,  precocious 
ones;  there  were  the  unsophisticated,  the  elegant,  the 
chubby,  the  blondes,  the  brunettes,  the  sentimental,  the 


82  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

laughing,  and  the  affected.  They  had  deHcate  judg- 
ment but  narrow  sentiments.  In  order  to  echpse  their 
friends,  these  ladies  would  employ  as  much  Machiavel- 
ism  in  their  social  relations  as  did  their  fathers,  broth- 
ers and  husbands  in  order  to  bankrupt  their  competi- 
tors. Their  conversation  ?  It  was  of  the  most  gossipy 
banalities. 

The  salons  now  being  filled  with  people,  Regina, 
whom  the  dressmaker,  the  chambermaid,  the  hair- 
dresser and  Felicite  had  succeeded  in  dressing,  made 
her  entrance  on  her  father's  arm.  Among  all  these 
graven  personages,  his  associates  and  his  equals.  Mon- 
sieur Dobouziez  looked  the  youngest  and  the  most  care- 
free, at  least  on  this  occasion,  for  his  paternal  pride 
had  brightened  his  usually  worried  expression.  Nev- 
ertheless, his  excitement  did  not  prevent  him  from 
strictly  observing,  as  he  passed  from  group  to  group 
introducing  his  daughter,  the  administrative  and  finan- 
cial hierarchy  of  his  guests. 

Gina's  appearance  provoked  a  whispered  murmur 
of  approval.  Laurent  would  have  been  more  dazzled 
than  ever  before.  She  wore  a  gown  of  white  net, 
strewn  with  tiny  beads  of  silver;  lilies-of-the-valley 
and  forget-me-nots  were  on  her  shoulder-strap  and  in 
her  hair.  Her  regular,  classic  beauty  was  enhanced 
by  a  graceful  carriage ;  she  created  a  harmony  of  ges- 
ture and  contour  that  would  have  been  the  despair  of 
any  sculptor.  Her  great  black  eyes,  her  moist  red  lips, 
her  profile,  like  an  antique  medallion  graven  upon  an 
agate  of  faint  rose,  were  framed  by  the  wilful  curls 
of  her  opulent  hair,  and  crowned  a  figure  of  beautiful 
proportions  and  the  exquisite  modelling  of  her  neck 
and  shoulders. 

The  sm^rt  little  pencils  had  finished  marking  up 


IN  SOCIETY  83 

the  satin  surface  of  the  dance-cards,  and  the  beautiful 
girls  were  now  showing  each  other  their  lists,  mur- 
muring, whispering,  envying  each  other  for  having  so 
many  dances  taken  by  the  one  man,  consoling  them- 
selves in  the  fact  that  his  name  did  not  appear  so  fre- 
quently on  their  friends'  cards. 

The  two  brothers  Saint-Fardier  were  very  much  in 
demand.  They  were  on  familiar  terms  with  all  the 
men,  and  they  flirted  with  all  the  girls.  But  it  was, 
however,  the  little  Vanderlings  who  attracted  them 
most.  Nervous  and  excited,  they  had  a  stock  of 
phrases  v^hich  they  kept  repeating.  "It  is  almost  as 
good  as  the  Count  d'Hamberville's  last  affair,"  they 
were  pleased  to  remark. 

Monsieur  Saint-Fardier,  senior,  ill  at  ease  in  his  eve- 
ning clothes,  perorated  and  gesticulated  as  if  he  were 
setting  upon  the  workmen  in  the  factory.  Angele  and 
Cora  wore,  with  hoydenish  ease,  scandalous  dresses  de- 
signed by  their  mother,  who,  being  the  daughter  of  a 
wealthy  cabinet-maker  of  the  Faubourg  Saint  Antoine 
in  Paris,  professed  a  most  aristocratic  disdain  for  com- 
mercial and  provincial  society.  She  admired  only  Gas- 
ton and  Athanasius  Saint-Fardier  de  la  Bellone,  who  at 
least  had  been  educated  in  Paris,  and  as  soon  as  they 
had  seemed  to  select  her  daughters,  she  resolutely 
pushed  Angele  and  Cora  upon  them.  Alluring,  in- 
toxicating, cleverly  trained  by  the  Parisienne — the 
nickname  given  to  Madame  Vanderling,  a  superior 
woman  who  was  as  crafty  as  a  procuress — the  two 
girls  allowed  their  suitors  no  respite,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  the  game  were  hunting  the  hunters.  Their 
father,  the  eminent  Vanderling,  a  well-known  figure 
in  all  important  cases  before  the  courts,  abandoned  to 
his  wife  the  care  of  providing  for  their  daughters, 


84  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

and,  retiring  to  the  little  card  room,  was  telling,  be- 
tween two  games  of  bridge,  the  story  of  the  crime  of 
passion  whose  author  he  was  to  defend. 

"Ah !  an  affair  with  an  unquestionable  relish.  Just 
as  if  it  came  out  of  Byron's  work.  Lara  or  the  Cor- 
sair in  real  life,"  he  said,  passing  his  hand  over  his 
apostolic  beard  with  a  gesture  that  he  had  copied  from 
a  veteran  of  the  Parisian  bar  who  had  been  exiled  to 
Antwerp  during  the  Second  Empire. 

Here,  too,  was  Freddy  Bejard,  accompanied  by 
his  bosom  friend,  his  shadow,  his  man-of -straw,  so 
evil  tongues  whispered.  Dupoissy  was  the  planet 
that  received  light  and  heat  only  in  the  sunlight  of 
Bejard*s  presence.  Whatever  he  was  he  owed  to  the 
powerful  shipowner.  The  business  men  were  hard 
put  to  it  to  find  out  just  what  he  was  "in."  Was  he 
in — it  is  the  consecrated  expression — grain,  coffee,  or 
sugar?  Eloi  Dupoissy  was  "in"  everything,  and 
nothing.  If  he  were  left  alone  for  two  minutes,  he 
would  ask,  with  an  uneasy  air,  where  Bejard,  his  mas- 
ter, was.  Being  but  a  subaltern,  he  never  refused  to 
carry  out  any  orders  with  which  he  was  entrusted  by 
the  omnipotent  ship-owner.  He  cherished  a  contempt 
for  the  people  with  whom  Bejard  did  not  agree,  exag- 
gerated Bejard's  haughtiness,  made  his  opinions  his 
own.  Mealy-mouthed,  insinuating,  sticky,  when  Du- 
poissy opened  his  mouth  he  resembled  a  music-loving 
carp  striking  the  pitch  before  singing  a  song.  Orig- 
inally from  Sedan,  he  passed  himself  off  as  a  merchant 
of  wholesale  woolens.  It  was  characteristic  of  him  to 
speak  of  the  little  country  in  which  he  was  living  in 
the  tone  of  indulgent  protection  so  irritating  in  exiles 
from  large  nations.  He  felt  as  much  at  home  as  did 
Tartuffe  with  Orgon,  took  part  in  everything,  discov- 


IN  SOCIETY  85 

ered  local  glories,  fulminated  literary  anathemas,  and 
sent  articles  to  the  newspapers. 

In  France,  the  most  centralized  of  countries,  the 
draining  of  values  toward  Paris  is  formidable.  Un- 
happily, in  no  other  country  than  France  is  provincial 
life  so  narrow  and  insipid.  And  Dupoissy  had  exiled 
himself  from  one  of  these  provinces  in  order  to  initiate 
the  people  of  Antwerp  into  the  life  of  the  intellect, 
and  to  contribute  his  efforts  to  their  moral  renascence. 
Dupoissy  possessed  one  defect  which  rendered  his  ca- 
reer as  a  well-known  man  about  town  very  difficult. 
His  breath  was  so  malodorous  that  Madame  Vander- 
ling,  the  Parisienne,  who  treated  the  French  provincial 
with  the  utmost  contempt,  complained  that  he  had 
swallowed  a  dead  rat. 

He  tried  vainly  to  conquer  this  pestilential  effluence 
by  means  of  a  strong  dose  of  mint,  cachous,  and  other 
remedies ;  the  stench  only  dominated  their  faint  aromas 
and  became  more  formidable  than  ever. 

Dupoissy  did  not  dance,  but  while  his  patron  was 
dancing  with  Mademoiselle  Dobouziez  he  extolled  the 
power  of  Terpischore,  and  with  the  sickly  expression 
of  an  obese  and  elderly  counter-jumper  he  entertained 
the  crowd  by  recalling  his  youthful  exploits.  He  re- 
marked devotedly  that  Bejard  and  Regina  were  a 
beautiful  couple;  they  evoked  for  him,  among  other 
allegories,  Beauty  giving  wings  to  Genius.  This  and 
other  poetic  efforts  made  him  both  hungry  and  thirsty 
and  he  profited  by  the  absence  of  his  master  to  make 
frequent  visits  to  the  buffet  and  place  an  embargo  upon 
all  the  food  and  drink  that  was  being  served. 

The  ball  grew  livelier  and  livelier.  The  three  clerks, 
having  been  presented  to  some  dowerless  girls,  daugh- 
ters of  functionaries  to  whom  the   Dobouziez*   were 


86  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

obligated,  conscientiously  did  their  duty,  and,  since  the 
girls  were  as  pretty  and  far  more  amiable  than  the 
rich  heiresses,  the  penmen  considered  themselves  as 
happy  as  the  Bejards,  Saint-Fardiers  and  Dupoissys. 
Bejard's  assiduous  attention  to  Mademoiselle  Dobou- 
ziez  worried  all  the  mothers,  who  either  wanted  the 
shipowner  for  their  daughters  or  the  daughter  of  the 
wealthy  manufacturer  for  their  sons. 

But,  and  nobody  could  have  foreseen  such  an  occur- 
ence, the  dancer  especially  honored  by  Mademoiselle 
Dobouziez  at  this  memorable  ball  was  the  grain-dealer 
Theodore  Bergmans,  or  Door  den  Berg,  as  he  was 
familiarly  called  by  his  friends,  that  is  to  say,  by  the 
whole  population. 

Door  Bergmans  was  an  exception,  in  the  breadth  of 
his  views  and  the  loftiness  of  his  spirit,  to  the  selfish 
and  tardigrade  men  with  whom  he  came  in  contact. 
He  was  young,  hardly  twenty-five  years  old,  and  did 
not  look  his  age.  Vigorous  and  healthy,  he  had  the 
stature  of  a  mortal  destined  to  command,  and  he  was 
taller  by  a  head  than  the  tallest  man  in  the  assembled 
company.  His  thick,  flaxen  hair  curled  slightly  above 
his  high  forehead,  his  kindly,  penetrating  eyes  were 
set  beneath  arched  eyebrows,  the  pupils  of  that  blue- 
violet  which  becomes  darker  or  lighter  in  the  reflection 
of  thought  in  the  same  way  as  does  a  sheet  of  water 
beneath  the  play  of  clouds.  His  nose  was  aquiline,  his 
mouth  small  and  hidden  by  a  cavalier  mustache,  his 
beard  was  like  those  seen  in  portraits  by  Franz  Hals. 
His  voice,  warm  and  vibrating,  had  that  compelling 
tone  which  sways  the  minds  of  crowds  from  the  very 
first  words,  one  of  those  fatal  voices  that  subjugate 
and  inspire,  so  musical  that  the  significance  of  the 
words  is  not  immediately  apparent.    The  son  of  a  low- 


IN  SOCIETY  87 

grade  fish-dealer  in  the  ruelle  des  Crabes,  who  sold 
more  eels  than  he  did  herrings  and  fresh  sea  fish,  the 
bromides  and  iodine  and  the  odour  of  fish  that  sat- 
urated his  father's  underground  shop  doubtless  con- 
tributed in  endowing  young  Door  with  the  healthy  and 
appetizing  complexion  that  is  characteristic  of  most 
young  fishermen.  At  the  primary  school,  where  his^ 
parents  sent  him  upon  the  advice  of  customers  who  had 
been  struck  by  the  boy's  intelligence  and  vivacity,  his 
record  for  conduct  was  impossible,  but  he  carried  off 
all  the  prizes.  Taken  to  the  Flemish  Theater,  he  de- 
veloped a  passion  for  the  Flemish  language,  the  only 
language  of  the  poor.  At  fifteen  he  wrote  a  play  which 
was  produced  at  the  Poesjenellekelder,  a  puppet  show 
that  had  been  established  in  the  cellar  of  the  old  Halle- 
de-la- Viande',  where  all  the  children  of  the  boatmen 
and  mussel-merchants  came  to  be  amused.  When  he 
had  left  grammar  school  he  did  not  pursue  his  studies, 
having  learned  enough  to  be  able  to  perfect  himself 
without  the  assistance  of  teachers.  Forced  into  the 
paternal  business,  he  attracted  custom  by  his  good 
humor,  his  fluent  wit,  his  sharp  mind.  Among  the 
lower  middle  classes  there  flourished  formerly,  and  still 
flourish,  "societies"  of  all  sorts,  political,  musical,  and 
so  forth.  Bergmans,  who  already  exercised  a  tre- 
mendous influence  among  his  friends,  only  had  to  pre- 
sent himself  in  one  of  these  societies  to  be  immediately 
elected  president.  From  that  moment  politics  called 
him,  but  politics  of  a  broad  nature,  essentially  inspired 
by  the  needs  of  the  common  people  and  especially 
adapted  to  the  character,  the  customs  and  the  condi- 
tion of  the  land  and  of  the  race.  He  took  the  initiative 
in  a  great  movement  for  a  national  revival,  in  which  the 
youth  of  the  country  followed  him.     But  his  lofty 


88  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

ideals  did  not  interfere  with  his  material  welfare. 
Fortune  favored  him.  He  pleased  old  Daelmans- 
Deynze,  one  of  the  old  aristocrats  of  Antwerp,  who 
loaned  him  capital  with  which  to  extend  his  business. 
Leaving  his  fishmongery,  young  Bergmans,  after  a 
profitable  apprenticeship  to  his  patron,  launched  him- 
self into  the  world  of  big  business,  especially  into  the 
grain-market  He  became  rich,  but  his  fortune  did 
not  impair  his  popularity.  He  remained  the  idol  of 
the  people  even  though  he  was  highly  thought  of  by 
the  bigwigs  and  met  the  proudest  and  most  aristocratic 
people  on  an  equal  footing.  He  became  the  head  of 
the  democratic  and  nationalistic  movement. 

Without  yet  holding  any  office,  he  represented  a 
much  more  actual  power  than  that  of  the  deputes  or 
the  ediles  elected  by  a  limited  body  of  voters  vaguely 
corrupted  by  foreign  influences.  He  was,  in  brief, 
one  of  those  men  for  whom  his  followers,  even  though 
they  comprised  the  majority  of  the  truly  representa- 
tive public  of  Antwerp,  would  have  thrown  them- 
selves into  the  fire — a  tribune  of  the  people,  a  ruwaert. 
He  was  so  upright,  so  lucid  in  his  spirit,  he  possessed 
so  much  common-sense  and  so  much  kindliness  of 
nature,  that  the  most  delicate  people  forgave  his 
trivial  faults,  his  braggadocio,  his  gasconades,  his  tend- 
ency to  employ  flashy,  vulgar  and  trivial  methods  of 
speech. 

This  violent  and  often  brutal  tribune  became,  in 
society,  a  perfect  conversationalist.  He  spoke  French 
with  a  pronounced  accent,  drawling  his  words,  and 
introducing  a  profusion  of  images  and  an  unexpected 
color.  He  expressed  his  admiration  for  women  in 
terms  that  were  often  a  trifle  frank,  of  which  the  bour- 
geois, weary  of  conventions  and  banalities,  tasted  the 


IN  SOCIETY  89 

spicy  flavour  even  while  pretending  to  be  shocked  and 
finding  fault.  Bergmans  had  a  rare  barbarism  and 
an  always  piquant  license. 

At  the  Dobouziez's  ball  he  lived  up  to  his  flattering 
reputation  of  being  a  charmer  and  a  heart-breaker. 
Quite  naturally,  he  was  very  attentive  to  Gina.  It  was 
the  first  time  he  had  met  her.  Beneath  her  proud 
beauty,  which  caressed  his  taste  for  fine  lines,  noble 
blood,  well-modelled  flesh,  he  divined  a  character  more 
original  and  more  interesting  than  those  of  the  other 
heiresses.  On  her  part  Gina  did  not  fail  to  save  him 
one  of  her  so  greatly  coveted  dances.  Bergmans' 
frank  and  pleasing  expression,  his  inherent  ease  of 
manner,  impressed  this  proud  young  girl  who  for  the 
first  time  had  met  in  him  a  young  man  worthy  of  her 
attention.  Beyond  the  perfect  fashion  of  their  clothes, 
Gina  had  for  a  long  time  found  nothing  to  appre- 
ciate in  the  Saint-Fardiers.  Therefore  she  did  not  for 
a  moment  dream  of  disputing  Angele's  and  Cora's 
title  to  them.  And  as  for  Laurent  Paridael,  that 
thick-witted  savage  could,  at  the  most,  hope  only  for 
her  patronage. 

During  the  dance  Mademoiselle  Dobouziez  engaged 
Bergmans  in  one  of  those  spirited  skirmishes  in  which 
she  excelled ;  but  this  time  she  met  her  match,  for  the 
tribune  parried  her  sallies  with  a  skill  equal  to  his 
courtesy.  Several  times  he  reluctantly  returned  a 
spirited  retort,  showing,  in  doing  it,  his  great  desire 
not  to  conquer  his  petulant  antagonist.  They  were  seen 
together  several  times  during  the  course  of  the  eve- 
ning. Even  while  she  was  dancing  with  other  men, 
Gina  tried  to  join  the  groups  in  which  Bergmans  found 
himself,  and  enter  the  conversation.  Her  interest  in 
him  was  not  lacking  in  a  little  vexation  with  this  son 


90  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

of  the  people,  this  revolutionist,  this  species  of  in- 
truder who  allowed  himself  to  possess  both  better 
looks  and  more  clever  conversation  than  all  the  poten- 
tates of  commerce.  Instead  of  being  thankful  for 
the  moderation  with  which  he  had  defended  himself 
against  her  epigrams,  she  was  humiliated  at  having 
been  spared,  the  more  because  from  the  first  engage- 
ment she  had  recognized  his  superiority.  Into  each 
of  his  reluctant  retorts  the  young  man  had  put  a  rever- 
ent gallantry.  Gina's  sentiment  toward  him  was  in- 
definable. Admiration  or  vexation;  which  was  it? 
Perhaps  aversion,  perhaps  sympathy.  At  one  time, 
knowing  herself  too  weak,  she  called  Bejard  to 
her  aid.  He  was  recognized  as  one  of  the  most  con- 
vincing dialecticiants  of  his  set.  She  gave  Bergmans 
an  opportunity  to  confute  one  of  the  beings  whom  he 
held  responsible  for  the  moral  decay  of  the  city. 

The  tribune  was  bitter.  He  stripped  his  foils  of  their 
buttons.  Nevertheless  he  showed  himself  to  be  a  man 
of  the  world,  respected  the  neutrality  of  the  salon  in 
which  he  was  being  entertained,  did  not  forget  him- 
self, and  tried  to  merit  the  esteem  of  Regina. 

Bejard,  irritated  by  Bergmans'  moderation,  fenced 
maladroitly,  and  became  almost  uncouth.  Neither  of 
them  touched  apparently  upon  the  matter  nearest  their 
hearts ;  but  they  measured  each  other,  looked  for  each 
other's  vulnerable  spots,  told  each  other  in  an  indirect 
manner  their  animosities,  their  contrary  instincts,  their 
disagreements.  Bejard  was  not  fooled  by  his  adver- 
sary's tact  and  conciliating  spirit.  They  revealed  to 
him  a  force,  a  character  and  a  talent  even  more  for- 
midable than  those  which  he  had  learned  to  know  in 
the  public  meetings.  Was  the  tribune  also  a  poli- 
tician?   Bejard  would  not  admit  that  this  idol  of  the 


IN  SOCIETY  91 

people,  this  fanatic  nationalist  found  as  much  pleas- 
ure as  the  others  were  willing  to  think  in  frivolous 
meetings  and  in  conversations  in  which  so  many  things 
had  to  be  said  and  done  contrary  to  his  convictions. 

And  Bejard  likewise  began  to  realize  with  what  con- 
tempt and  aversion  Bergmans  regarded  people  of  his 
species.  However,  Bergmans'  ironic  good  humor  and 
ease  of  manner  increased  with  the  growing  discom- 
fiture of  his  opponent.  Bejard  ended  by  being  totally 
eclipsed.  Gina  was  annoyed  by  Bergmans*  success ;  it 
was  impertinent  of  him,  a  mere  street-corner  orator, 
to  put  to  rout  an  oracle  so  greatly  esteemed  by  Mon- 
sieur Dobouziez. 

Several  times  during  that  winter,  Gina  and  Berg- 
mans met  at  various  functions.  She  continued  to  pay 
him  a  little  more  attention  than  she  did  to  the  others. 
She  treated  him  as  a  comrade,  but  nothing  in  her 
manner  told  him  that  she  preferred  him  to  the  rest. 
And  to  the  Vanderlings,  who  teased  her  about  him, 
she  answered :  "Nonsense.    He  only  amuses  me  l" 

Nobody,  after  all,  attached  any  importance  to  their 
friendship. 

Bergmans,  irresistibly  attracted  by  Gina*s  charm, 
held  himself  violently  in  check  in  order  not  to  tell  her 
his  feelings.  The  soHdarity  of  caste  and  of  inter- 
ests, the  community  of  sentiments  and  aspirations  that 
he  knew  existed  between  Bejard  and  Gina's  parents 
made  him  disconsolate. 

Many  times  he  had  been  on  the  point  of  proposing  to 
her.  In  the  meanwhile,  Gina  went  about  so  much  and 
with  such  an  alarming  ardor  that  Monsieur  Dobouziez 
had  to  beg  her  to  rest  and  take  care  of  herself.  She 
was  the  belle  of  the  season,  the  most  feted,  the  most 
flattered,  the  most  intrepid. 


92  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

Everywhere  Bergmans  and  Gina  treated  each  other 
with  an  assumed  familiarity,  trying  to  put  each  other 
upon  the  wrong  scent  with  regard  to  their  reserve  and 
their  intimate  thoughts.  And  each  bore  a  grudge  to 
the  other  because  of  this  paraded  friendship  and  flirta- 
tion, under  which  a  profound  and  tender  sentiment 
was  budding. 

"I  shall  draw  no  inferences!"  thought  Door  Berg- 
mans, as  little  experienced  as  Hercules  at  the  feet  of 
Omphale.  "She  thinks  me  a  little  livelier  playtoy  than 
the  others,  and  nothing  else!  Does  she  know  how 
much  she  fascinates  me  ?  Why  am  I  not  richer,  or  she 
poor  and  bom  to  another  sphere?  I  would  have  pro- 
posed long  ago!" 

Regina  suffered  no  less.  She  was  forced  to  admit 
to  herself  that  she  loved  this  "anarchist,"  she,  the  well- 
born girl,  the  heiress  of  the  Dobouziez*.  She  would 
never  have  dared  speak  to  her  father  about  such  a 
preference. 


IX 
"THE  GINA" 

The  dockyard  of  Fulton  and  Co.,  shipbuilders,  was 
being  cleared  for  action.  A  new  ship,  built  for  the 
Southern  Cross,  the  line  plying  between  Antwerp  and 
Australia,  was  about  to  be  launched.  The  ceremony 
had  been  announced  for  eleven  o*clock.  The  last  prep- 
arations were  being  made.  Like  an  enormous  butter- 
fly that  had  for  a  long  time  been  dormant  in  its  chrys- 
alis, the  boat,  now  completely  matured,  had  been 
stripped  of  its  envelope  of  timber  work. 

The  dockyard  was  decorated  with  masts  and  with 
porticos  that  vanished  beneath  a  profusion  of  ban- 
ners and  flags  of  all  colors  and  all  nations,  among 
which  the  most  prevalent  was  the  red,  yellow  and  black 
of  Belgium.  Ingenious  monograms  drew  together  the 
names  of  the  ship,  its  builder  and  its  owner:  Gina, 
Fulton,  Bejard.  And  here  and  there  were  displayed 
figures  telling  when  the  work  had  been  begun  and 
when  finished. 

Near  the  ship  itself  rose  a  platform  hung  with  sail- 
cloth, which  the  damp  wind  blew  furiously  about.  Near 
the  water,  looking  like  a  stranded  whale,  lay  the  huge 
boat,  a  powerful  carcass,  shored  up  and  freshly  paint- 
ed black  and  red.    On  the  poop,  in  golden  letters  upon 

93 


94  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

a  carved  shield  representing  a  siren,  could  be  read  the 
word  Gina. 

Since  early  morning  the  dockyard  had  been  filled 
by  a  crowd  of  curious  people.  The  guests  who  were 
fortified  with  cards  of  admittance  took  their  places  in 
the  tiers  of  the  platform.  In  the  front  row  arm  chairs, 
upholstered  in  Utrecht  velvet,  awaited  the  authorities, 
the  godmother  and  her  family.  Lookers  on  of  little 
importance  and  the  workmen  took  risks  by  placing 
themselves  near  the  shore  and  the  boat. 

It  was  a  beautiful,  sunshiny  day,  as  beautiful  as 
It  had  been  when  they  had  made  the  excursion  to 
Hemixem,  almost  a  year  before.  Everybody  who  had 
the  slightest  pretension  to  importance  in  the  world  of 
intellect,  style  and  politics,  met  there  as  if  by  chance. 
They  strutted  about,  these  people  who  counted,  the 
Saint-Fardiers,  the  Vanderlings,  the  Brullekens,  the 
De  Zaters,  the  Fuchskops,  the  many  Verhulsts,  Ver- 
bists,  Peeters  and  Janssens,  and  all  the  Vons  and  the 
Vans  of  the  other  occasion.  It  was  always  the  same 
crowd. 

Dupoissy  was  radiant  and  put  on  as  many  airs  as 
if  he  had  been  the  designer,  owner  and  captain  of  the 
ship  all  in  one.  The  ladies  exhibited  charming  gowns 
designed  with  very  evident  meaning.  Angele  and 
Cora  Vanderling  sat  simpering  next  to  their  fiances, 
the  young  Saint-Fardiers,  who  were  parading  stylish 
lounging  suits  of  blue  with  brass  buttons,  like  the  uni- 
form of  a  naval  officer.  Door  Bergmans  was  also  at 
the  ceremony,  accompanied  by  his  friends,  the  realist 
painter  William  Marbol  and  Rombaut  de  Vyveloy, 
the  composer. 

And  now  everything  was  ready.  The  crew  gath- 
ered upon  the  bridge  of  the  boat,  according  to  the  cus- 


"THE  GIN  A''  95 

torn.  The  sailors,  clean  looking  in  their  holiday 
clothes,  good-natured,  frank  fellows,  would  have  re- 
called to  Laurent,  had  he  been  there,  his  old  friend 
Vincent  Tilbak.  A  little  embarrassed  by  their  sea- 
legs,  they  looked  as  if  they  did  not  relish  parading 
upon  a  boat  that  was  still  on  dry  land.  Caught,  as 
they  were,  in  the  midst  of  the  crew,  some  of  the 
lookers-on  would  have  liked  to  give  themselves  the 
emotion  of  going  down  the  ways  on  the  boat.  The 
wheedling  Dupoissy  would  have  liked  to  be  among 
them,  but  his  delicate  duties  kept  him  on  shore.  While 
waiting  for  the  master  he  had  to  receive  the  guests, 
find  a  place  for  the  ladies  under  the  awning,  and  also 
do  the  duty  of  manager,  and,  when  necessary,  dis- 
lodge the  outsiders.  He  was  conscious  of  his  import- 
ance, and  very  radiant.  It  was  good  to  see  him  take 
the  Misses  Vanderling  close  to  the  boat  and  explain 
the  details  of  its  construction  in  technical  terms.  He 
confided  to  them,  too,  with  an  air  of  mystery,  that  he 
had  prepared  some  verse,  which  he  thought  were  "well 
turned."  In  order  to  get  rid  of  him,  the  editor  of  the 
great  commercial  daily  had  promised  to  intercalate 
them  in  his  account. 

Several  crews  of  the  most  picturesque  and  vigorous 
laborers  on  the  dockyards  waited,  at  arm's  length  from 
the  boat,  for  the  moment  to  set  her  at  liberty.  They 
were  waiting  only  for  the  authorities  and  the  prin- 
cipal actors  in  the  ceremony  to  arrive.  Outside  the 
dockyards,  on  the  quays,  and  down  stream  toward  the 
city,  thousands  of  curious  people,  stemmed  only  by  the 
Fulton  buildings,  which  were  filled  to  suffocation,  were 
standing,  waiting  to  take  their  part  in  the  spectacle, 
and  were  pushing  each  other  in  an  uproar  of  excite- 
ment. 


96  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

Attention!  Dupoissy,  his  handkerchief  tied  to  the 
end  of  his  cane,  gave  a  signal  like  a  starter  at  the 
races. 

Extemporaneous  artillerymen,  hidden  behind  the 
sheds,  set  off  the  charges  of  powder.  ''The  cannon," 
said  the  crowd,  trembling  with  a  delicious  thrill  of 
expectation.  The  young  Saint-Fardiers  teased  An- 
gele  and  Cora,  who  had  jumped  at  the  noise. 

A  choral  society  began  singing  "La  Braban^onne." 
"They  have  come !  They  have  come  !'* 
They  had  arrived.  Getting  out  of  the  carriage  were 
the  burgomaster,  the  godfather  of  the  ship,  giving  his 
arm  to  the  godmother.  Mademoiselle  Dobouziez,  who 
looked  ravishing  in  a  gown  of  rose  silk  and  net;  then 
Bejard,  leading  Mamma  Dobouziez,  who  was  more 
beflowered  and  beplumed  than  ever,  especially  since 
Gina  had  given  up  opposing  her  mother's  innocent 
mania.  At  the  very  end  came  Dobouziez,  who  was 
escorting  the  wife  of  the  constructor.  The  populace, 
whom  the  police  had  great  difficulty  in  keeping  out 
of  the  reserved  space,  wondered  naively  at  Mademoi- 
selle Dobouziez'  beauty.  They  had  acclaimed  Door 
Den  Berg,  but  had  grumbled  audibly  as  Bejard 
went  by  And  there  were  to  be  found  in 
more  than  one  group  of  these  good  people  and 
even  on  the  benches  upon  the  platform,  narrators 
to  establish  a  contrast  between  the  brilliant  cere- 
mony of  that  day  at  the  Fulton  Dockyards,  and  the 
atrocities  that  had  taken  place  there  twenty-five  years 
before,  under  the  responsibility  of  Bejard  senior,  and 
with  the  complicity  of  Freddy  Bejard,  the  future  ship- 
owner. But  the  hardly  repressed  hisses  and  murmurs 
were  drowned  by  the  silly  gaiety  and  idle  jubilation. 
When  the  cortege  had  gained  their  places  there  was 


"THE  GIN  A"  97 

another  peal  of  cannon.  The  musicians  were  about 
to  start  playing  when  Dupoissy  gave  them  a  furious 
signal  to  be  quiet.  And,  planting  himself  in  front  of 
the  platform,  on  the  steep  bank  of  the  river,  a  few 
steps  away  from  the  boat,  he  took  a  rose-colored  paper 
from  his  pocket,  opened  it,  coughed,  bowed,  and  twit- 
tered in  a  voice  like  that  of  a  prematurely  weaned  kid 
a  whole  litany  of  rancid  alexandrines  to  which  no- 
body, however,  paid  the  slightest  attention.  From 
time  to  time,  through  the  talking  that  was  going  on, 
one  could  catch  a  hemstitch :  "Oh,  ship !  Thou  son  of 
earth!  .  .  .  Thou  conqueror  of  the  seas!  ...  On 
distant  shores  .  .  .  Salute  for  us  .  .  .  dawn  creeps 
above  the  horizon  over  the  sea  .  .  .  symbol  of  our 
laws  .  .  .  kingdom  of  Amphytrite  ..." 

"What  a  lot  of  commonplaces !"  murmured  Madame 
Vanderling  in  Gaston  Saint-Fardier's  ear.  "You  will 
see  that  he  won't  pass  one  up !  That  man  is  a  veritable 
almanach  of  the  muses !" 

He  finished.  There  were  a  few  discreet  bravos.  A 
few  people  whispered  "Not  bad,  not  bad!"  Most  of 
the  audience  indulged  in  a  sigh  of  relief.  Finally  the 
really  moving  part  of  the  ceremony  began  to  be  pre- 
pared. The  musicians  played  an  air  of  Gretry's: 
''Ou  peut-on  etre  mieuxf  M.  Fulton,  the  builder, 
gave  a  sharp  order  to  the  workmen. 

Beneath  the  powerful  pressure  of  the  rams  and  the 
wedges  that  were  urging  her  forward,  the  immense 
hulk,  immovable  until  now,  began  to  move  almost  in- 
visibly. All  eyes  anxiously  followed  the  efforts  of  the 
robust  crew  of  workmen  massed  under  the  bow  of  the 
ship,  shoring  it  up  from  that  side,  and  armed  with 
handspikes  in  order  to  make  it  slide  down  the  ways 
with  greater  speed.     Piles,  stanchions  and  braces  had 


98  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

all  been  removed;  the  last  bit  of  shoring  had  been 
taken  away. 

Bejard  had  escorted  Mademoiselle  Dobouziez  close 
to  the  mooring.  Taking  a  plush-handled  hatchet,  the 
blade  of  which  had  been  filed  down  to  a  razor-like 
keenness,  he  offered  it  to  the  godmother,  and  asked  her 
to  cut  the  last  restraining  cable  with  one  sharp  blow. 
The  beautiful  Gina,  usually  so  adroit,  went  about  it 
badly;  she  struck  the  cable,  but  the  stout  hemp  held 
fast.  She  hacked  at  it  a  second  and  a  third  time,  be- 
came impatient,  and  uttered  a  clicking  sound  of  irrita- 
tion. The  silence  in  the  crowd  was  such  that  the  pant- 
ing spectators,  holding  their  breath,  perceived  the 
spoiled  child's  obstinate  access  of  temper.  The  wags 
laughed. 

"Ifs  a  bad  omen  for  the  ship,"  said  the  sailors  to 
each  other. 

"And  for  the  godmother !"  added  the  lookers  on. 

As  Mademoiselle  Dobouziez  did  not  make  an  end  to 
it,  Bejard,  in  turn,  became  impatient,  took  the  recalci- 
trant tool  from  her  hands,  and  with  a  firm  and  vigor- 
ous stroke  cut  the  cable. 

The  enormous  hulk  creaked  in  every  plank,  began 
to  move,  and  slid  majestically  down  into  its  ultimate 
domain. 

It  was  an  affecting  moment.  What  was  it  that 
made  the  hearts  of  all  these  people  beat  a  little  faster ; 
not  only  those  of  the  unpretentious,  but  those  of  the 
most  vain  and  haughty,  more  difificult  to  move  than 
the  enormous  colossus  itself? 

In  slipping  down  to  the  water  the  boat,  which  now 
seemed  possessed  of  a  strange  life,  continued  to  creak 
and  groan.  Nothing  could  have  been  as  majestic  as 
the  prolonged  rumble  that  reverberated  in  the  flanks 


''THE  GIN  A"  99 

of  The  Gina.  Some  horses  whinney  thus  with  pleas- 
ure and  pride  when  their  master  puts  to  the  test  their 
vigor  and  their  speed.  Then,  brusquely,  it  traversed, 
like  an  impatient  diver,  the  distance  by  which  it  was 
separated  from  the  undulating  water.  Then  with  a 
crash  it  plunged  into  the  Scheldt,  whose  foamy  mass 
seemed  to  quiver  and  make  way. 

The  noise  of  the  boat  having  ceased,  there  arose  from 
the  crowd  prolonged  and  insistent  cheers.  The  band 
sent  forth  repeated  and  inspiring  fanfares,  the  salvos 
began  again,  an  immense  tricolor  was  hoisted  to  the 
top  of  the  largest  mast.  The  crew  of  The  Gina  burst 
forth  with  cries  of  jubilation,  and  her  sham  passen- 
gers, convinced  of  their  importance,  waved  hats  and 
handkerchiefs. 

Presently  the  ship  strode  into  the  middle  of  the  river 
and  turned  with  the  dignity  and  easy  grace  of  a  tri- 
umpher.  It  was  no  longer  the  heavy,  inert,  crabbed 
and  rather  woeful  mass  that,  a  moment  before,  every- 
one had  admired  only  in  expectation;  for  a  ship  out 
of  water  has  always  the  look  of  a  wreck,  but,  as  soon 
as  it  strikes  its  element,  it  is  buoyed  up  and  quick- 
ened into  life.  Its  engines  had  been  put  in  motion,  its 
huge  screws  were  churning  the  water,  smoke  was  es- 
caping from  its  great  funnel.  Its  formidable  organ- 
ism was  functioning,  its  muscles  of  steel  and  iron  be- 
gan to  work,  it  groaned,  it  breathed,  it  lived.  And 
the  cheers  were  louder  than  ever.  In  the  meanwhile,  un- 
der the  tent  on  the  shore.  Monsieur  Fulton's  manager 
had  champagne  and  biscuits  passed  around.  All  the 
man  drank,  in  high  good  humor,  pretending  a  great 
joy,  to  the  good  fortune  of  The  Gina.  Everyone 
crowded  about  the  beautiful  godmother  to  express 
their  good  wishes  for  her  godson.    Gina  carried  her 


loo  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

glass  to  her  lips  and  replied  to  every  toast,  with  a 
dignified  and  aristocratic  smile.  The  little  Vander- 
lings,  however,  really  drank.  Held  tightly  by  their 
fiances,  they  pretended  to  be  ticklish,  laughing  like  lit- 
tle lunatics,  white,  plump,  red-lipped,  their  eyes  full 
of  the  science  of  love. 

Bejard  redoubled  his  attentions  to  Gina. 

"Well,  you  are  linked  up  to  my  fortunes,  made- 
moiselle," he  said,  not  without  intention.  "In  The 
Gina  that  belongs  to  me,  and  which  will  do  honor  to 
its  name,  I  don't  doubt,  I  shall  rejoice  to  find  some- 
thing of  you.  Besides,  the  English,  our  teachers  in 
commerce,  have  done  their  ships  the  honor  of  includ- 
ing them  among  the  women.  For  them,  all  objects 
are  alike  in  being  of  the  neuter  gender.  Only  ships 
belong  to  the  fair  sex  !'* 

"I  feel  like  a  little  girl  beside  that  imposing  matron !" 
Gina  replied,  laughing.  "And  I  find  it  difficult  to  be- 
lieve that  I  held  her  over  the  baptismal  fount.  It  was 
rather  she  who  seemed  to  accord  me  her  patronage. 
And  that  explains  my  emotion  of  a  few  moments  ago ! 
Really,  all  my  nerve  left  me!" 

Dobouziez,  in  a  generous  humor  because  of  his 
daughter's  success,  and  always  anxious  to  follow  usage 
and  not  to  be  stingy  in  public,  had  had  the  foreman 
called. 

"Here,"  he  said,  giving  him  five  louis,  "here  are 
the  baptismal  sweetmeats!  Divide  them  among  your 
men  and  have  them  quench  their  thirst!" 

"What  an  idea!"  grumbled  Saint-Fardier  senior  in 
Bejard's  ear.  "The  brutes  won't  be  able  to  stand  on 
their  feet.  Perhaps  you  think  that  I'd  give  them  a 
tip!  You  ought  to  see  how  I  sober  them  up  at  the 
factory  on  Monday  mornings!" 


"THE  GINA''  loi 

After  having  executed  several  rxiktioeuvres;  iri  ot^tc 
to  show  herself  to  full  advantage  to  the  fashionable 
and  critical  crowd  that  had  attended  her  first  gambol- 
lings  The  Gina  put  on  double  speed  and  flew  off  to 
the  roadstead  to  rejoice  the  eyes  of  other  spectators. 
A  berth  had  been  prepared  for  her  near  the  quay, 
where  she  could  wait  until  she  had  taken  on  her  full 
equipment  and  crew  and  her  first  cargo  of  passengers 
and  merchandise.  It  had  been  agreed  by  the  owner 
and  the  captain  that  she  was  to  put  to  sea  in  a  week's 
time. 

Dupoissy,  a  little  mortified  at  the  slight  success  of 
his  verses,  approached  the  water,  and,  his  glass  filled 
with  champagne,  standing  at  the  extreme  end  of  the 
ways  from  which  the  boat  had  taken  to  the  water,  he 
called  the  crowd,  with  the  air  of  a  juggler  waiting  to 
do  a  new  trick :    "Attention,  please  !*' 

Every  one  turned  to  look  at  him.  He  had  drunk 
glass  after  glass  of  champagne  while  nobody  w^as  pay- 
ing any  attention  to  him,  and  now,  dishevelled  and  a 
little  grey,  he  had  remembered  the  marriage  of  the 
Doge  and  the  Adriatic,  and  the  antique  libations  to  the 
Ocean  made  by  the  pagans  in  order  to  propitiate  Nep- 
tune and  Amphytrite. 

"May  this  nectar  of  Bacchus,  poured  into  the  king- 
dom of  the  waves,  assure  to  the  glorious  Gina  the 
clemency  of  the  elements !" 

He  spoke,  and,  seeking  a  graceful  pose,  put  all  his 
weight  upon  one  foot  and  poured  the  Roederer  into 
the  river.  But,  being  a  fat  man,  he  narrowly  escaped 
following  it ;  had  Bergmans  not  held  him  back  by  his 
coat-tails  he  would  have  taken  a  header.  Every  one 
applauded  and  laughed. 


102  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

"GoDcl!  Cur  bard  is  going  to  throw  himself  into 
the  river,"  sneered  the  Parisienne. 

*'Be  careful,  monsieur,  the  ancient  gods  and  the  old 
Scheldt  do  not  seem  to  be  pleased  with  your  parody 
of  their  rites!"  said  Bergmans. 

"Oh,  yes!  I  am  a  profane  foreigner,  am  I  not?" 
the  pseudo  wool  merchant  answered  spitefully,  in- 
stead of  thanking  his  rescuer.  "Only  pure-blooded 
natives  of  Antwerp  may  revive  the  ancient  ritual !" 

"I  did  not  say  quite  that!"  added  Bergmans  with 
a  laugh. 

The  company  took  leave  of  each  other;  the  guests 
began  to  enter  their  carriages.  The  workmen,  holding 
their  tip  as  a  pledge,  cheered  the  important  personages 
with  more  conviction  than  at  their  arrival.  That  after- 
noon there  was  to  be  a  dance  in  the  dockyard  for  all 
the  staff;  several  casks  were  to  be  broached.  Some  of 
the  workmen  were  already  skipping  about,  making 
preparations  for  this  new  part  of  the  program.  Being 
fond  of  such  ceremonies,  Marbol  and  his  friend  Rom- 
baut  resolved  to  return  with  Bergmans  in  the  after- 
noon. 

"And  you,"  he  hazarded  to  Gina;  "are  you  not  go- 
ing to  attend  these  good  folks'  gambol;  are  you  not 
going  to  take  part  in  their  joy,  which  is,  after  all,  a 
little  due  to  you?" 

She  made  a  little  face  of  disgust. 

"Peuh !  It's  not  to  my  taste !  That  sort  of  thing  is 
all  right  for  democrats  like  you!  You  and  Laurent 
would  get  along  perfectly!" 

"Who  is  Laurent?" 

"A  very  distant  cousin,  both  actually  and  figurative- 
ly, for  just  now  he  is  at  school  some  hundred  miles 
away.     He  believes,  like  you,  in  the  importance  of 


''THE  GINA'*  103 

the  common  herd.  But  he  hasn't  the  excuse  of  paint- 
ing them  Hke  your  friend  Marbol,  and  making  money 
out  of  them;  or,  like  you,  the  prospect  of  becoming 
president  of  the  Republic  and  Free  City  of  Antwerp." 

She  only  thought  of  Paridael  in  order  to  make  an 
uncomplimentary  comparison,  at  least  in  her  own 
mind,  between  Bergmans  and  the  boy.  She  was  an- 
noyed with  Bergmans  for  not  having  been  sufficientTy 
attentive  to  her  during  the  ceremony,  and  for  having 
left  her  alone  with  Bejard  the  whole  time. 

"Decidedly,"  thought  Door,  "our  opinions  and 
feelings  are  widely  separated.  I  would  do  anything  to 
overcome  the  divergence.  She  is  intelligent  enough, 
and  fundamentally  she  has  a  great  deal  of  rectitude. 
If  she  loved  me,  I  could  easily  interest  her  in  my  work 
and  in  my  ideals.  I  should  make  an  ally  of  her!  If 
she  but  loved  me.  For  in  spite  of  her  pride  and  dis- 
dain and  her  submission  to  convention  and  prejudice, 
she  is  out  of  place  in  her  world.  She  is  worth  more, 
or  will  be  worth  more  than  her  parents.  Noble  ideals 
and  superior  thoughts  should  find  a  place  in  her.  Her 
beauty  and  her  instinct  contradict  her  education! 
Why  should  not  I  contend  for  her  against  the  rich 
eligibles  who  are  always  prowling  around  her?" 


X 

THE    ORANGERY 

A  YEAR  slipped  by.  Young  Paridael  was  able  to 
come  home  for  a  few  weeks.  Dobouziez  put  him 
through  an  examination  which  showed  conclusively 
that  he  had  put  all  his  energy  into  ^'grinding"  harder 
than  ever  at  subjects  which  his  guardian  thought  un- 
important, or  that  he  studied  them  from  a  point  of 
view  totally  opposed  to  that  of  his  guardian.  Thus, 
instead  of  learning  from  the  modern  languages  the 
things  necessary  to  a  good  business  correspondent,  he 
had  crammed  his  head  with  literary  nonsense. 

"As  if  there  were  not  enough  silly  stories  in 
French !"  protested  Monsieur  Dobouziez. 

Laurent  had  become  a  tall,  ruddy  youth  with 
straight  hair  and  the  constitution  of  a  day  laborer, 
but  beneath  his  too  material  exterior,  his  sullen  and 
dull  expression,  he  hid  a  disposition  that  was  ex- 
cessively impressionable,  an  intense  need  for  tender- 
ness, an  exalted  imagination,  a  passionate  tempera- 
ment, and  a  heart  greedy  for  justice.  His  seeming 
apathy,  complicated  by  an  insurmountable  timidity  and 
a  slow  and  embarrassed  diction,  shackled  and  thwarted 
feelings  that  were  almost  morbidly  acute,  and  vibrant 
and  hypersensitive  nerves.  Beneath  his  torpor  surged 
a  lava,  a  ferment  of  desires  and  ideals. 

From  his  earliest  infancy  he  had  been  a  little  dif- 

104 


THE  ORANGERY  105 

ferent,  a  little  inconsistent,  and  this  had  made  his 
parents  fear  for  his  future.  The  foreboding  of  the 
ordeals  stored  up  for  him  by  the  world  at  large  only 
endeared  to  them  this  scion  who  was  both  ill-favored 
and  elect.  But  with  the  exception  of  these  well-be- 
loved folk,  to  whom  his  merits  were  revealed  by  the 
tie  of  flesh  and  blood,  few  people  appreciated  him.  It 
need  not  be  added  that  the  boy  baffled  immediate  ob- 
servation, and  discouraged  commonplace  advances. 
Then,  too,  when  he  was  overflowing  with  feeling  and 
thought,  either  his  modesty  or  a  false  sense  of  shame 
prevented  him  from  expressing  them,  or,  if  he  tried  to 
put  them  into  words,  what  he  said  seemed  excessively 
far-fetched  and  passed  the  bounds  of  normality  set 
by  convention. 

Laurent  was  destined  to  be  fatally  misunderstood. 
The  best-disposed  and  most  penetrating  people  did  not 
fathom  him  or  were  shocked  by  his  unbridled  enthusi- 
asm and  unusual  opinions.  He  gave  himself  up  to 
unseasonable  demonstrations,  and  these  would  be  fol- 
lowed by  abrupt  moods  of  dejection.  Enthusiastic 
outbursts  completely  strangled  themselves  in  his 
throat,  and  ended  in  an  unintelligible,  harsh  and  al- 
most brutal  grunt,  as  if  his  jealous  soul  were  sharply 
recalling  this  flight  of  incendiary  captives  before  they 
achieved  expression,  or  as  if  he  despaired  of  making 
himself  understood  and  recoiled  before  the  strangeness 
of  his  effusions.  At  times  it  was  like  the  pantomime 
and  the  guttural  noise  of  a  deaf-mute  on  the  point  of 
speech.  His  impressions  and  his  impulses  congested 
him.  At  school  he  made  but  few  friends.  The  other 
boys  would  have  made  him  a  laughing-stock  had  he 
not  been  able  to  make  them  keep  their  distance  with 
his  fists. 


io6  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

The  premature  death  of  his  parents  resulted  not  in 
disgusting  him  with  Hfe  but  in  making  him  compre- 
hend it  in  his  own  way,  love  it  for  other  reasons, 
see  it  through  other  eyes,  look  askance  at  codes,  mor- 
als and  conventions.  He  became  more  and  more  taci- 
turn. His  apparent  inertia  resembled  that  of  a  Ley- 
den  jar  filled  to  the  poi;^t  of  explosion.  Suffering, 
always  constrained,  plethoric,  his  instincts  might  have 
indemnified  themselves  for  their  long  repression;  he 
might  have  suddenly  burst  forth,  gratified  his  pas- 
sions without  halt,  ruined  himself  forever  and  ever; 
but,  in  doing  so,  he  would  have  avenged  himself  upon 
life.  Capable  of  any  self-sacrifice  and  any  tenderness, 
but  also  of  any  fanaticism,  in  certain  events  he  would 
have  justified  vice  and  vindicated  crime;  according 
to  circumstances,  he  might  have  been  a  martyr  or  an 
assassin;  perhaps  both. 

At  one  of  the  informal  dinners  now  quite  frequent 
at  the  home  of  his  guardians,  Laurent  became  ac- 
quainted with  Door  Bergmans.  His  frank  manner, 
his  commanding  appearance  and  his  kindly  attention 
tamed  the  young  savage.  Frequenters  of  the  house 
had  never  taken  any  notice  of  the  poor  relation.  Gina 
teased  Bergmans  about  it. 

"Do  you  remember  my  prediction  on  the  day  of  the 
launching  of  the  ship?" 

"Perfectly,"  answered  Bergmans,  "and  I  must  say 
that  if  that  is  the  boy  you  were  referring  to  he  inter- 
ests me  greatly.  The  few  words  that  I  wormed  out 
of  him  reveal  a  nature  far  above  the  ordinary." 

Gina  seemed  not  to  take  this  praise  seriously,  but 
thereafter  she  condescended  to  talk  more  frequently 
with  her  cousin. 

The  marrying  of  Gina  was  not  accomplished  as  eas- 


THE  ORANGERY  107 

ily  as  Monsieur  Dobouziez  could  have  supposed.  Many 
obstacles  stood  in  her  road,  even  though  she  was  an 
heiress  and  exceedingly  beautiful.  Suitors  dreaded  her 
imperious  and  trenchant  disposition  and  her  love  of 
ostentation.  Admirers  were  not  lacking.  She  had 
around  her  a  perpetual  swarm  of  men  paying  her  at- 
tentions, a  siege  of  flirting  and  gallantry,  but  no  recog- 
nized suitor  presented  himself. 

Cora  and  Angele  Vanderling,  who  were  younger 
than  Gina,  had  just  married  Athanasius  and  Gaston 
Saint-Fardier.  They  plagued  her  with  secret  confi- 
dences and  vaunted  the  liberty  of  conjugal  life.  Both 
led  their  lymphatic  husbands  around  by  the  nose  and 
hesitated  less  than  ever  to  flirt  with  the  gallants. 
Saint-Fardier  senior,  overjoyed  at  having  rid  himself 
of  his  sons,  had  obtained  positions  for  both  of  them, 
one  with  an  exchange-broker,  and  the  other  in  the 
office  of  a  nautical  assessor.  Vanderling,  on  his  part, 
had  dowered  his  daughters  very  fairly.  The  two 
young  couples  lived  in  very  high  style,  and  the  girls, 
who  were  becoming  ever  more  radiant  and  dazzling 
in  their  beauty,  abandoned  themselves  to  every  whim. 

With  Bergmans,  Bejard  still  remained  the  most 
assiduous  visitor  at  the  Dobouziez's.  Laurent,  who 
now  knew  the  shipowner's  antecedents,  did  not  hide 
his  aversion  for  him.  Inclined  toward  a  vague  mysti- 
cism, he  now  accounted  for  the  moment  of  hallucina- 
tion that  had  come  to  him  on  the  excursion  to  Hem- 
ixem.  To  Laurent,  Freddy  Bejard  seemed  to  exhale 
the  corrosive  vapor  of  acreoline,  to  embody  in  cor- 
poreal form  the  manslaughtering  machines.  He, 
therefore  suffered  indescribably  at  seeing  this  sinister 
and  inauspicious  satellite  incessantly  gravitate  in  the 
orbit  of  the  radiant  Gina.     Bejard  had  an  intuition 


io8  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

of  the  feeling  that  he  inspired  in  Laurent,  and  amused 
himself  by  irritating  him,  but  distantly  and  prudently, 
as  one  irritates  a  watch  dog  that  can  unloose  himself. 

"My  word!"  he  often  used  to  say  to  Gina;  "he 
hasn't  a  reassuring  manner  at  all,  that  young  raga- 
muffin! Look  how  he  gloats  over  us  with  his  assas- 
sin's eyes !  Don't  you  think  he  will  bite  some  fine  day  ? 
Were  I  you  I  should  muzzle  him!" 

In  fairness  to  Gina  it  must  be  said  that  although 
Bergmans'  praise  of  the  little  savage  had  annoyed  her, 
she  was  nevertheless  tempted  to  defend  Laurent 
against  Bejard's  sarcasm. 

Laurent  was  drawn  closer  to  Bergmans  by  the  fact 
that  he  was  a  competitor  against  Bejard.  Laurent 
had  heard  Bergmans  speak  publicly,  and,  having  been 
profoundly  stirred  by  his  imaginative  and  savory  elo- 
quence, he  was  not  only  his  friend,  but  his  partisan, 
too. 

Nevertheless,  by  degrees  a  feeling  of  jealousy  took 
possession  of  him,  a  feeling  so  vague  that  he  could  not 
have  fairly  said  whether  he  was  jealous  of  Gina  or  of 
Bergmans.  One  of  Bergmans'  inoffensive  jokes,  made 
before  Gina,  had  wounded  him.  He  turned  his  back 
on  his  friend,  was  sulky  with  him  for  days  afterward, 
and  was  moodier  toward  him  than  toward  any  of  the 
others. 

"What's  the  matter  with  our  little  cousin  now?" 
asked  Bergmans. 

But,  unlike  Bejard,  who  was  amused  by  this  fit  of 
bad  temper,  Bergmans  sought  the  poor  boy  and  scolded 
him  tenderly  with  so  much  real  kindliness  that  the 
child  finished  by  being  captivated  once  more  and  asked 
Bergmans'  forgiveness  for  his  whims. 

Since  his  puberty  the  capricious  and  indefinite  sen- 


THE  ORANGERY  109 

timent  that  he  cherished  for  his  cousin  had  been  aggra- 
vated by  enervating  sensuous  appeals.  With  increas- 
ing age  he  became  even  more  impressionable.  The 
unreasonable  demands  of  his  temperament  made  him 
impatient  of  his  innate  reserve  and  timidity. 

At  school,  when  he  was  in  his  fifteenth  year,  he 
fainted  like  a  little  girl  at  the  too  ardent  perfume  of 
the  vernal  gardens.  The  witchery  of  the  springtime, 
whiffs  of  stormy  twilights,  the  heavy  winds  that  pre- 
ceded rain,  beating  down  upon  the  tall  grass  and  seem- 
ing to  swoon  there,  too  intoxicated  with  joy  to  re- 
sume their  flight,  the  atmosphere  of  the  summer  sol- 
stice and  the  autumnal  equinox  caressed  him  like  the 
touch  of  invisible  lips. 

During  these  moments  the  whole  of  creation  em- 
braced him,  and  demoralized  and  beside  himself,  he 
burned  to  give  it  caress  for  caress !  Why  could  he  not 
clasp  to  him  in  a  spasm  of  total  possession  the  trees 
that  grazed  him  with  their  branches,  the  hay-ricks 
against  which  he  leaned,  and  all  the  perfumed  and  soul- 
stirring  environment  ?  He  longed  to  be  absorbed  for- 
ever into  Nature  in  ferment.  To  live  for  but  one  sea- 
son, but  to  live  the  life  of  that  season!  What  gentle 
melancholy,  what  a  renunciation  of  his  being,  what  a 
delicious  anguish  there  was  in  this  already  posthumous 
suppleness!  One  day  the  singular  timbre  of  an  alto 
voice  had  moved  him  to  tears.  He  discovered  again 
its  velvety,  grave  sound,  sombre  and  rich  like  the 
mantle  of  night,  or  like  an  autumnal  thicket,  in  his 
cousin's  voice.  He  compared  the  despotism  of  her 
voice  to  the  quality  of  those  unusual  nights  when  he 
obtained  only  a  mocking  sleep;  nights  propitious  to 
nightmare,  to  entreaties  and  attempted  violation — the 
nights  of  the  Stone  Mill. 


I  lo  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

He  had  not  ceased,  he  thought,  bearing  Gina  a 
grudge;  he  judged  her  with  more  severity  and  bitter- 
ness than  ever.  And  the  fact  that  she  accepted  no  one 
brought  him  a  certain  amount  of  pleasure.  Not  only 
did  he  rejoice  in  the  disdain  and  malice  with  which  she 
treated  Bejard,  but  he  was  almost  happy  when  she 
teased  and  repulsed  Bergmans.  Apparently  she  did 
not  encourage  either  more  than  the  other.  "The  lit- 
tle mischief-maker,"  he  said  to  himself  with  a  labored 
and  artificial  indigation,  "in  Door's  place  Fd  teach  her 
a  lesson." 

Distrustful  as  he  was,  he  noticed  one  day  the  tender 
and  almost  passionate  intonation  m  which  she  said  a 
few  inconsequential  words  to  Door.  And  he  was  so 
troubled  by  it  that,  alone  with  her  afterward,  he  gath- 
ered his  courage  and  said,  point  blank: 

"Why  don't  you  marry  Monsieur  Bergmans?" 

She  burst  out  laughing,  and  looking  him  straight 
in  the  eye: 

"I?  Marry  a  demagogue  like  him  and  become  the 
wife  of  Citizen  Bergmans?"  she  cried  with  so  great 
an  accent  of  sincerity  that  Laurent  allowed  himself 
to  believe  her. 

Although  he  protested  bitterly,  at  heart  he  was  over- 
joyed. Her  words  so  greatly  reassured  him  that  he 
pretended  to  reproach  Bergmans  for  his  hesitancy  and 
backwardness.  He  was  deceitful  unpremeditatedly, 
instinctively;  he  was  indignant  at  his  own  diplomacy, 
and  was  furious  at  finding  all  the  dictates  of  his  up- 
right conscience  thwarted  and  paralyzed  in  the  meshes 
of  a  sensual  duplicity.  H  ostensibly  he  were  serving 
his  friend  Bergmans,  it  was  in  spite  of  the  cry  of  his 
flesh'. 

"I,  marry?    Ask  for  the  hand  of  Mademoiselle  Do- 


THE  ORANGERY  in 

bouziez?  You're  joking,  my  boy!"  protested  Berg- 
mans at  the  perspective  that  young  Paridael  had  just 
suggested  to  him,  not  wholly  without  anxiety.  "Who 
the  devil  put  that  bee  in  your  bonnet?  In  the  first 
place,  the  girl  is  too  rich  for  me.  .  .  ."  And  when 
Paridael  urged  him :  "To  tell  the  truth,  I  do  love  her, 
and  I  have  made  seeing  her  a  delicious  habit.  If  she 
had  encouraged  me  the  slightest  bit  perhaps  I  should 
have  dared  to  open  my  heart  to  Father  Dobouziez.  .  .  . 
But  what  you  have  just  said  is  a  warning  to  me !  Other 
people  have  also  probably  taken  note  of  my  assiduity. 
It's  time  that  I  stopped  compromising  your  cousin!" 

"What  a  pity  1"  answered  Laurent.  "You  two  seem 
made  for  each  other."  But  in  spite  of  this  justifiable 
conviction  the  paradoxical  youth  had  difficulty  in  con- 
taining his  joy,  and  not  throwing  his  arms  about  Berg- 
mans. He  did  his  best,  however,  to  combat  and  dispel 
his  friend's  scruples.  And  when  he  thought  that  if 
Bergmans  stopped  coming  to  the  house  he  would  have 
no  more  chance  to  see  him,  he  found  himself  exhort- 
ing his  friend  without  a  mental  reservation,  for  he 
was  honestly  and  exceedingly  fond  of  him. 

As  for  Bejard,  Laurent  was  certain  that  Gina  would 
never  accept  him  as  her  husband.  Not  only  could  the 
shipowner  have  been  her  father,  but  the  correct  and 
irreproachable  Dobouziez  esteemed  him  in  a  purely 
professional  way  which  did  not  render  him  oblivious 
to  the  little  peccadilloes  that  this  aspirant  had  upon  his 
conscience.  He  would  more  easily  have  chosen  Be- 
jard for  a  partner  than  for  a  son-in-law. 

Faithful  to  his  resolution,  Bergmans  frequented  the 
house  less  regularly,  and,  after  a  month  of  these  visits, 
farther  and  farther  apart,  he  ceased  coming  altogether. 

Laurent   breathed    freely,   although   he   was   both 


112  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

happy  and  heart-broken;  almost  happy  in  spite  of 
himself  and  his  remorse.  But  he  was  not  yet  at  the 
end  of  his  anguish. 

Gina,  the  flirtatious  and  mischievous  Gina,  who 
seemed  to  have  made  so  little  of  Bergmans*  attentions, 
seemed  most  affected  by  his  absence.  Her  regret  and 
her  worry  became  so  apparent  that  finally  a  light  broke 
upon  Laurent. 

"She  lied  to  me ;  she  loves  him  !'*  he  said  to  himself. 
And  the  lacerating  torture  that  this  discovery  caused 
him  made  him  admit  to  himself  his  own  desperate  love 
for  her.  He  was  struck  down,  for  he  knew  instantly 
that  she  could  never  love  him. 

In  that  case  it  was  his  duty  to  bring  the  two  lovers 
together.  He  should  have  warned  the  girl  long  ago  of 
the  love  that  Bergmans  bore  her.  If  he  kept  quiet  now 
he  would  be  acting  like  a  cheat.  By  one  word  he  could 
have  consoled  his  cousin  and  overwhelmed  his  friend 
Bergmans  with  joy.  Racked  with  remorse,  he  ab- 
stained from  saying  that  word.  He  endured  an  un- 
heard-of martyrdom.  "Are  you  finally  going  to 
speak?"  asked  his  conscience.  "No!  No!  Pity! 
Have  mercy  on  me !"  sobbed  his  flesh.  "Call  Bergmans 
back  as  quickly  as  you  can."  "I  can't!  I'd  rather 
die!"  "Miserable  fool,  I  tell  you  she  will  never  love 
you !"  "It  makes  no  difference !  She  will  never  belong 
to  anyone!"  "But  Bergmans  is  your  friend!"  "I 
hate  him !"  "Murderer,  Gina  is  dying !"  "Rather  than 
bring  them  together  I  shall  kill  them  both!" 

That  Gina  was  dying  was  true.  Watching  her  be- 
come thin,  emaciated,  sad,  so  feeble,  so  quiet  and 
sweet,  never  laughing  or  teasing,  indifferent  to  all  dis- 
tractions, Laurent  was  a  hundred  times  upon  the  point 
of  telling  what  he  knew  of  Bergmans'  feeling.     His 


THE  ORANGERY  113 

tongue  burned  like  that  of  a  mute  whom  one  word 
will  relieve,  but  whom  pitiless  nature  prevents  from 
pronouncing  that  word.  A  hundred  times,  too,  upon 
the  point  of  writing  to  Door,  he  let  the  pen  drop  from 
his  hand.  He  would  have  preferred  to  sign  his  death 
warrant. 

Having  left  for  Odessa,  Bergmans  sent  two  or  three 
business  letters  from  the  shores  of  the  Black  Sea  so 
that  people  would  not  comment  upon  his  prolonged 
eclipse.  The  anguish  of  the  Dobouziez'  was  so  great 
that  they  paid  no  attention  to  their  ward's  convulsed 
face  and  extraordinary  manner. 

Laurent,  who  did  not  feel  able  to  talk  to  Gina,  re- 
solved one  evening  to  tell  everything  to  her  father 
the  next  day.  "She  will  never  love  me!"  he  said  to 
himself,  like  a  stoic  refining  his  torture  in  order  the 
less  to  feel  it.  "And  am  I  sure  that  I  love  her?  Is 
it  not  envy  that  blinds  me,  and  which  makes  me,  be- 
cause I  am  gloomy  and  without  inheritance,  hostile  to 
the  good  fortune  of  everyone  else?'*  In  spite  of  all 
the  effort  that  he  made  to  persuade  himself  that  such 
was  the  case,  in  the  presence  of  Dobouziez  he  could 
not  speak  one  word,  and  all  his  spiritual  grandeur 
foundered  in  the  abyss  of  his  love. 

He  went  and  sat  beside  the  invalid,  in  the  orangery, 
among  the  intoxicating  and  perverse  flowers  with 
which  she  persisted  in  surrounding  herself.  Since 
her  illness  she  had  accustomed  herself  to  Laurent's 
presence  and  care  as  she  would  have  to  those  of  a 
trained  nurse.  Generally  he  read  to  her,  and  she  took 
pleasure  in  finding  fault  with  him.  On  this  particu- 
lar morning  he  stammered  and  stuttered  outrageously. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Laurent?"  she  asked. 
"I  can  no  longer  understand,  one  word,  that  you  are, 
reading !" 


1 14  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

He  threw  the  book  down  on  the  table  and  seized  her 
attenuated  hands. 

"Regina,"  he  muttered;  "I  have  something  very 
serious  to  tell  you.  ..."  He  stopped,  looked  in  her 
eyes  and  became  very  red.  He  was  about  to  pro- 
nounce the  name  of  Door  Bergmans,  and  again  that 
name  stuck  in  his  throat.  Without  saying  another 
word,  carried  away  by  an  irresistible  impulse,  seized 
with  dizziness,  he  could  only  fall  upon  his  knees  and 
cover  with  kisses  the  bands  which  Gina,  confused  and 
even  frightened,  was  trying  to  withdraw.  Annoyed 
and  excited  by  her  aversion  for  him,  instead  of  ceas- 
ing, he  came  nearer  and  brutally  caught  her  to 
him.  Gina  gave  vent  to  a  piercing  scream,  in 
answer  to  which  the  providential  Felicite  came  run- 
ning. 

"Better  and  better!"  shrieked  the  factotum,  throw- 
ing her  arms  in  the  air. 

Laurent  ceased,  and  ran  out,  his  fists  clenched,  furi- 
ous at  having  betrayed  himself  and  ruined  everything 
just  when  he  was  about  to  score  a  victory.  The  ser- 
vant immediately  told  her  employers,  and  that  same 
day,  before  his  vacation  had  expired,  Monsieur  Do- 
bouziez  sent  Laurent  back  to  college. 

From  there  the  guilty  boy,  abashed  and  ashamed  of 
his  violence,  and  worried  at  its  probable  conse- 
quences for  Gina,  wrote  letter  after  letter  asking  for 
news.  Nobody  answered  them.  He  was  horror- 
stricken.  Without  doubt,  Gina  was  getting  worse. 
Was  not  the  aggravation  of  her  illness  due  to  the  emo- 
tion which  he  had  caused  her  to  undergo  ?  Perhaps  she 
was  in  agony ;  perhaps  dead !  Finally  he  was  no  longer 
able  to  contain  himself,  and  he  fled  from  college  and 
fell  like  a  bomb  into  the  factory.    The  first  person  he 


THE  ORANGERY  115 

met  was  the  terrible  Saint-Fardier.  The  telegraph  had 
already  warned  the  establishment  of  his  flight. 

"Ah!  Here  you  are,  good-for-nothing?"  cried 
Saint-Fardier,  making  a  face  as  though  he  would  have 
liked  to  cut  off  Laurent's  ears. 

"I  beg  you,  monsieur,  tell  me  how  my  Cousin  Re- 
gina  is.** 

"Madame  Bejard  is  much  better  since  she  no  longer 
has  occasion  to  have  anything  to  do  with  a  rascal  like 
your 

Madame  Bejard !  Laurent  heard  nothing  but  these 
two  words  and  stood  dully,  so  dully  that  when  Saint- 
Fardier  took  him  by  his  collar  he  did  not  even  think  to 
defend  himself.  Dobouziez  interfered  at  that  mo- 
ment. 

"Let  him  go,"  he  said  to  his  partner.  "Fll  finish 
with  this  blackguard !"  And  to  Laurent :  "You,  come 
with  me  to  my  office !" 

The  young  man  obeyed  mechanically. 

"Here  are  a  hundred  francs,'*  Dobouziez  said  to 
him.  "On  the  first  of  each  month  you  will  be  sent 
that  amount.  That  sum  represents  the  income  from 
the  modest  capital  left  by  your  father.  And  now,  get 
out.  Oh !  One  word  of  advice.  You  can  never  count 
upon  any  member  of  my  family.  All  our  doors  are 
closed  to  you!  That  indefensible  prank  of  yours  has 
placed  you  without  the  pale  of  your  relatives.  Good- 
by.     I  am  not  detaining  you!** 

"Cousin  Gina  has  become  Madame  Bejard,  hasn*t 
she?**  Laurent  hazarded,  hardly  having  heard  the  ma- 
jor excommunication  fulminated  against  him. 

"Mme.  Bejard  is  no  longer  your  cousin.  Come,  take 
your  money.  And  see  that  I  never  hear  you  spoken 
of!** 


ii6  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

Laurent  paused  at  the  door.  Already  Dobouziez 
had  sat  down  in  front  of  his  desk  and  was  going  back 
to  work  as  if  nothing  important  had  happened,  as  if 
he  had  simply  been  paying  off  a  discharged  clerk. 

His  attitude  froze  Laurent,  and  recalled  him  to  the 
feeling  of  the  situation.  For  several  seconds  he  was 
plunged  in  grief,  and  foreswore  life;  then  he  came 
to  his  senses. 

"Very  well!  So  be  it!"  he  thought.  "It  is  just  as 
well  that  we  separate !" 

He  left  the  room.  In  the  street  a  nervous  gaiety 
took  possession  of  him,  in  reaction.  Was  he  not  free, 
emancipated,  his  own  master?  No  more  college,  no 
more  control,  no  more  guardians.  And,  especially,  no 
more  remorse,  no  more  jealousy,  even  no  more  love. 
He  believed  her  to  be  Madame  Bejard  now,  detached 
her  forever  from  Gina.  He  rejected  his  cousin  as  if 
he  were  throwing  away  a  flower  polluted  by  a  slug. 

"And  to  think  that  the  Dobouziez'  think  that  they 
are  punishing  me  in  throwing  me  upon  my  own  re- 
sources!" he  repeated  excitedly.  "And  that  brute  of 
a  Saint-Fardier !  If  I  had  not  been  taken  by  storm  by 
the  news  I  would  have  strangled  him  on  the  spot !" 

And  in  going  along  the  ditch :  "You  speak  in  vain^ 
oh,  greasy,  putrid  water  1  It  is  the  past,  my  past,  that 
wallows  at  the  bottom  of  your  oily  urn.  It  is  a  ca- 
daver, a  chrysalis  that  you  withhold!  Your  nymph 
has  become  Mme.  Bejard !  Cloaca  for  cloaca,  oh,  dis- 
astrous ditch,  you  seem  less  disgusting  to  me  than  cer- 
tain marriages !" 


PART  II 
FREDDY  BEJARD 


THE  HARBOR 

Carrying  his  head  high  and  throwing  out  his  chest 
with  the  air  of  a  conqueror,  Laurent  began  to  walk 
through  his  native  city.  One  thing  he  had  to  consider 
immediately,  and  that  was  the  choice  of  a  lodging. 
The  merchants'  quarter,  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  sum- 
moned him  more  strongly  than  any  of  the  others. 

He  took  lodgings  on  the  second  floor  of  one  of 
those  picturesque  houses,  with  wooden  facade  and 
Spanish  gables,  in  the  Marche-au-Lait,  a  narrow  and 
much  frequented  street  encumbered  from  morning  un- 
til night  with  all  sorts  of  vehicles,  the  trucks  and  drays 
of  large  manufacturing  corporations,  the  hampers  and 
carts  of  the  market  gardeners. 

Laurent's  windows  looked  out  over  the  hovels 
across  the  street,  upon  the  gardens  of  the  cathedral. 
The  immense  Gothic  pile  rose  above  the  grove  of  tall 
trees.  A  few  crows  flew  about  the  coping  of  the 
cathedral.  It  was  at  Notre  Dame  that  Laurent  had 
been  baptised,  and  precisely  the  same  dear  carillon,  the 
melodious  soul  of  the  tower,  that  used  to  lull  him  to 
sleep  during  his  early  childhood,  when  he  used  to  play 
marbles  or  hopscotch  in  front  of  the  cathedral  door 
with  the  boys  of  the  neighborhood,  began  to  peal  out 
the  notes  of  an  old  Flemish  ballad  that  Siska  used  to 
sing: 

119 


I20  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

"Au  bord  d'un  rivelet  rapide, 
Se  lamentait  une  blanche  jeune  fille." 

Laurent  resolved  to  hunt  up  his  faithful  friend  im- 
mediately. 

A  new  shock  awaited  him  at  the  water-gate.  He 
passed  through  the  Place  du  Bourg,  where  the  quay 
broadens  and  juts  a  point  out  into  the  roadstead. 
From  the  very  end  of  this  promontory  the  view  was 
magnificent. 

Upstream  and  downstream  the  Scheldt  spread  out 
with  a  majestic  quietude  the  superb  surge  of  its  tide. 
One  could  see  it  describe  a  curve  to  the  northwest,  re- 
cede, wind  back  again,  proceed  on  its  way,  turn  once 
again,  as  if  it  wanted  to  retrace  its  steps  and  again 
salute  the  sovereign  metropolis,  the  pearl  of  all  the 
cities  through  which  it  flowed,  as  if  it  were  forsaking 
her  with  regret. 

On  the  horizon  sails  receded  toward  the  sea,  funnels 
of  steamers  unfurled  against  the  milky,  pearly  grey 
of  the  sky,  long  woolly  pennants,  like  exiles  who  wave 
farewell  with  their  handkerchiefs  as  long  as  they  are 
able  to  see  the  beloved  shores.  Sea  gulls  scattered  in 
flight  above  the  tawny,  green  surface  of  the  water,  ris- 
ing and  falling  in  the  gentle  and  subtle  curves  that  will 
forever  be  the  despair  of  marine  painters. 

The  sun  was  slowly  setting ;  it,  too,  could  not  decide 
to  leave  these  shores.  Its  fiery  glow,  pierced  with  wide 
bands  of  gold,  crested  the  waves  with  luminous  little 
drops  of  blood.  As  far  as  the  eye  could  see  along  the 
wharfs  and  the  tree-planted  quays  and  beyond  the 
grassy.dikes  of  Polder,  there  was  a  fluttering  and  scin- 
tillating of  living  jewels. 

Fishing  boats  began  to  regain  the  canals  and  basins 


THE  HARBOR  121 

in  which  they  were  to  tie  up  for  the  night.  Lazy 
barges  slipped  down  stream  with  the  tide  so  slowly 
that  they  seemed  almost  immobile  and  unconscious  of 
the  titillating  caress  of  the  flaming  water,  charged  with 
electricity  like  the  fur  of  a  cat. 

White  sails  became  rose.  The  decks,  the  loins 
and  the  flanks  of  the  boats  were  almost  lifeless  at  this 
hour.  And  every  little  while  the  graceful  silhouette 
of  a  sailor,  hauling  in  a  cable  or  repairing  a  mast, 
would  stand  in  bold  relief,  tall  and  black,  against  the 
sail  of  the  ship's  boat,  taking  on  an  air  of  indescrib- 
ably fateful  authority  and  superterrestrial  worth. 

To  the  right,  on  the  border  of  the  residence  quarter, 
there  plunged  deeply  inland,  as  if  following  upon  a 
victory  of  the  river  over  the  land,  great  square  sheets 
of  water  that  were  the  basins,  and  yet  more  basins, 
from  which  shot  up  in  compact  tufts  thousands  of  en- 
tangled crossyards  and  masts.  And  in  this  forest  of 
masts,  pierheads,  gangways,  locks  and  drydocks,  rose 
faintly  and  by  fits  and  starts  against  the  horizon. 

In  certain  parts  of  the  basins  the  crowding  was  so 
great  that,  viewed  from  a  distance,  the  masting  and 
rigging  of  the  closely  packed  boats  seemed  to  be  tan- 
gled up,  to  cross,  and  conjured  up  a  web  so  tightly 
woven  that  it  clouded  the  opaline  sky  or  pricked  off 
an  early  star,  setting  one  to  dream  of  the  cloths  woven 
by  fabled  genii,  where  the  multicolored  signal  lights 
and  silvery  constellations  began  to  appear  like  glow- 
worms and  fireflies. 

Ready  to  seek  its  rest,  the  swarm  of  workers  hur- 
ried, redoubled  its  activity,  in  a  desire  to  finish  its  daily 
task.  To  recrudescences  of  tumult  there  succeeded  sud- 
den lulls.  The  calkers'  pickaxes  ceased  hammering  at 
rotted  hulls,  the  chains  of  the  hand  winches  suspended 


122  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

their  grinding;  a  snorting,  whining  steamboat  held  its 
peace ;  the  yells  and  the  rhythmic  chant  of  sailors  and 
longshoremen  working  in  gangs  suddenly  died  down. 

And  these  alternate  moments  of  silence  and  tumult 
extended  simultaneously  in  all  parts  of  the  laboring 
city,  giving  the  effect  of  the  sighs  of  a  Titan  con- 
fronted with  interminable  labor. 

In  the  infinite  confusion,  Laurent  distinguished  gut- 
tural calls,  raucous  or  strident,  as  plaintive  as  the  bugle 
calls  at  the  barracks,  as  sad  as  the  moaning  of  exhaust- 
ed forces. 

And  after  each  phrase  of  the  human  chorus  there 
resounded  a  grosser  noise ;  bales  fell  to  the  bottom  of 
the  hold,  bars  of  iron  tumbled  and  rebounded  upon  the 
flagging  of  the  quays. 

In  turning  his  attention  from  the  river  to  the  shore 
Laurent  perceived  a  gang  of  workmen  uniting  their 
forces  to  move  a  giant  cedar  sent  from  America. 
Their  manner  of  forming  in  line,  of  grouping  them- 
selves, of  bringing  their  force  to  bear  upon  its  inert 
mass,  of  bringing  into  play  their  shoulders,  backs  and 
loins,  would  have  made  a  bas-relief  of  heroic  days  look 
quaint  in  comparison. 

But  a  strange  and  complex  odor,  compounded  of 
sweat,  spices,  the  skins  of  animals,  fruit,  tar,  wrack, 
coffee  and  herbage,  intensified  by  the  heat,  went  to  his 
head  like  the  bouquet  of  a  superfine  wine ;  the  incense 
pleasing  to  the  god  of  commerce.  This  perfume,  teas- 
ing his  nostrils,  sensitized  his  other  organs. 

The  carillon  began  to  peal  once  more.  Rippling 
down  from  above  the  water,  the  sound  seemed  even 
more  gentle  and  tender,  as  if  lubricated  by  some  mys- 
terious unction. 

The  sea  gulls  were  wheeling,  their  oblique  flight  tak- 


THE  HARBOR  123 

ing  the  air  over  his  shoulder.  They  came  near,  flew 
away,  returned,  surrendered  themselves  to  a  choreogra- 
phy determined  by  the  most  elemental  rites;  in  turn, 
attracted  by  the  water,  the  earth  and  the  sky  at  the 
moment  when  these  three  masters  of  space  were  kin- 
dled in  the  same  bath  of  humid  and  unctuous  vesperal 
light. 

At  this  last  magic  spell  Laurent  turned  away,  fas- 
cinated, almost  reeling,  sucked  in  by  the  abyss.  He 
looked  once  more  at  the  workmen  who  had  been  toil- 
ing at  the  cedar;  then  saw,  nearer  to  him,  a  huge 
dray  to  which  a  powerful  horse  was  harnessed,  and  the 
driver  waiting  at  its  side  for  his  wagon  to  be  loaded. 
And  on  the  plank  between  the  dray  and  the  ship,  the 
cadenced  coming  and  going  of  the  plastic,  hooded 
longshoremen,  bending  their  necks  but  not  their 
bodies  beneath  their  burdens,  their  figures  in  full  re- 
lief against  the  stern  of  the  boat,  their  knees  bend- 
ing a  little  at  each  step,  settling  their  load  firmly  on 
their  shoulders  with  one  hand,  the  other  fist  at  their 
hips,  Gods ! 

A  pyramid  of  bales  gradually  piled  up  upon  the 
dray.  The  tackle  and  the  hydraulic  crane  never  ceased 
to  search  and  bite  into  the  entrails  of  the  transatlantic 
steamer  and  to  withdraw  gobbets  of  merchandise. 

Not  far  away  a  contrary  operation  was  taking 
place.  Instead  of  emptying  the  stomach  of  a  steamer 
they  were  gorging  it  without  respite ;  coal  was  sliding 
into  its  bunkers,  bags  and  cases  engulfed  themselves 
in  the  insatiable  depths  of  its  hold.  And  its  purveyors 
sweated  hugely  without  succeeding  in  allaying  its  sud- 
den pangs  of  hunger. 

The  manual  labor  being  accomplished  by  picked 
ynen  suggested  to  the  observer  the  grandeur  and  the 


124  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

omnipotence  of  his  native  city.    But  it  did  not  cease 
to  frighten  and  intimidate  him. 

"Shall  I  again  be  repulsed  and  held  at  a  distance?" 
he  asked  himself. 

And  in  its  proud  raiment  Antwerp,  in  its  turn, 
seemed  to  him  the  incarnation  of  a  no  less  haughty 
and  triumphant  creature. 

One  night  when  going  to  theater  in  full  evening 
dress,  his  Cousin  Gina  had  been  so  dazzling  that  an 
ineluctable  impulse  had  precipitated  him  toward  her 
like  a  ruffian.  But  the  radiant  young  girl  had  fore- 
seen his  movement  of  adoration.  She  had  settled  her- 
self, waved  aside  his  candid  idolatry  with  a  distant  ges- 
ture, as  if  it  were  unclean  dust,  and  with  a  desperately 
even  voice,  without  pleasure,  without  even  the  gleam 
of  satisfaction  that  all  homage,  even  the  shallowest, 
calls  up  in  a  woman's  face,  she  said  to  him : 

"Go  away,  silly!    You  will  crumple  my  flounces!" 

Yes,  his  city,  too  rich,  too  beautiful,  too  vast  for  her 
foster  child,  deceived  Laurent  that  evening. 

"Is  she,  too,  going  to  wave  me  aside,  as  if  I  were 
valueless  and  unworthy  ?"  he  asked  himself  in  anguish. 

But  it  was  as  if  the  adorable  city,  less  hard  and 
less  cruel  than  the  woman,  had  read  the  distress  of 
the  declassed  youth  and  determined  that  nothing  should 
spoil  the  intoxication  of  his  emancipation  before  he 
had  entirely  succumbed  to  grief,  and  the  flaming  sky 
dulled  its  too  brilliant  radiance,  and  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, the  water,  into  which  it  seemed  that  rubies  had 
been  poured,  took  on  its  normal  appearance.  The  twi- 
light air  became  tender  and  fluid  once  again ;  the  waves 
were  velvety  with  a  fleeting  mist,  on  the  horizon  there 
was  but  the  vague  memory  of  the  furious  kindling  that 
had  terrified  Paridael. 


THE  HARBOR  125 

It  was  a  veritable  relaxing.  The  city  was  going  to 
treat  him  more  kindly  and  with  more  pity! 

Even  the  movements  of  the  longshoremen  seemed 
less  superhuman,  less  hieratic.  The  workers,  on  the 
point  of  quitting  work,  surprised  him  by  breathing 
like  simple  mortals,  their  arms  crossed  or  hanging 
loosely  at  their  sides,  or  wiping  their  foreheads  with 
the  back  of  their  sleeves.  Laurent  found  them  as  hand- 
some this  way,  and  more  kindly.  At  the  moment  of 
going  home,  of  bathing  themselves  in  the  intimacy  of 
home  life,  they  laughed,  having  become  listless  in  ad- 
vance, and  a  langor  descended  from  their  backs  to  their 
legs,  and  their  embraces  sought  objects  less  rough  and 
less  inert. 

Laurent  set  foot  upon  reality  once  again. 


II 

THE  CAP 

He  began  his  search  for  the  home  of  the  Tilbaks  in 
the  Quartier  des  Bateliers. 

The  street  lamps  were  beginning  to  be  lit  when  he 
spied  a  little  shop,  bearing  a  sign  proclaiming  it  to  be 
At  the  Sign  of  the  Cocoanut.  The  show  window  dis- 
played a  pile  of  the  most  incongruous  objects;  field 
glasses  and  compasses,  tarred  hats,  coarse  woolen  caps, 
packages  of  English  and  American  tobacco  wrapped  in 
yellow  paper,  plugs  of  Cavendish  and  rolls  of  chewing 
tobacco,  penknives,  bottles  of  perfume,  and  Windsor 
soap. 

Something  told  him  that  it  was  the  home  of  his  dear 
Siska.  He  had  no  further  doubt  when  he  saw,  inside 
the  shop,  a  woman  busy  putting  in  order  the  objects 
that  had  been  misplaced.  She  had  her  back  turned 
toward  Laurent,  and,  as  the  room  had  not  yet  been  lit, 
he  could  hardly  discern  her  silhouette.  But  before  she 
turned  her  face  toward  him  he  had  recognized  her. 
She  lit  the  oil  lamps.  He  saw  her  in  full  face.  It 
was  the  same  good,  open  face  of  former  days ;  she  still 
wore  her  hair  in  the  curly  bands,  now  beginning  to  be- 
come a  little  grey,  in  which  the  lad's  fingers  used  to 
become  tangled,  and  which  he  used  to  pull  mercilessly. 
He  stood  still  in  front  of  the  show  window  with  the 

126 


THE  CAP  127 

air  of  a  customer  making  his  choice,  and  as  the  street 
was  even  darker  than  the  store,  Siska  could  hardly  see 
him.  From  time  to  time,  while  busy  tidying  up  her 
shop,  she  threw  the  unknown  a  stealthy  glance.  That 
didn't  please  him?  What  did  he  need  to  decoy  him 
into  the  shop?  Poor  woman!  Laurent  wondered 
whether  she  sold  many  of  these  things. 

Siska,  no  longer  counting  upon  this  customer,  be- 
gan walking  toward  the  little  room  at  the  back  of  the 
shop.  In  opening  the  door  Laurent  rang  a  little  bell ; 
she  turned  and  came  toward  him  with  the  alacrity  and 
the  engaging  smile  that  shopkeepers  display  before  a 
customer. 

In  the  most  serious  manner  possible  Laurent  asked 
to  try  on  some  caps.  She  looked  him  up  and  down, 
trying  to  guess  which  among  her  stock  of  caps  would 
please  him.  This  rapid  examination  gave  her,  with- 
out doubt,  a  sufficiently  high  notion  of  Paridael's  ele- 
gance, for  she  showed  him  the  dearest  ones,  fancy 
sailors'  caps  such  as  stylish  travellers  wear.  But  Lau- 
rent asked  to  see  peasants'  caps,  stevedores'  caps,  or 
carters'  caps,  and  pretended  to  fix  his  choice  upon  huge 
tufted,  peaked,  brown  woolen  ones. 

Siska  looked  at  him  suspiciously.  He  surely  was  an 
odd  one !  Or  he  had  good  reason  to  disguise  himself 
when  it  was  not  carnival  time!  Nothing  good  about 
that.  She  filled  Laurent's  cup  of  malicious  joy  to  the 
brim  by  quickly  removing  her  bunch  of  keys  from  the 
counter ;  he  watched  her  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye. 
Laurent  had  occasion  to  remember,  because  of  its  con- 
sequences, this  sudden  desire  to  masquerade,  and  his 
fancy  for  plebeian  headgear. 

Keeping  one  of  the  flashiest  specimens  of  the  assort- 
ment, a  rakish  cap  that  would  have  delighted  the  heart 


128  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

of  a  wharf  rat,  upon  his  head,  he  asked  the  price.  She 
looked  at  him  with  so  amusing  and  sincere  an  air  of 
consternation  that  he  could  no  longer  control  himself. 
While  she  gave  him  change  for  a  twenty-franc  note 
with  the  haste  of  one  who  would  willingly  be  rid  of 
a  suspicious  customer,  he,  on  the  contrary,  took  his 
time,  could  not  finish  looking  at  himself  in  the  mirror, 
or  adjusting  his  purchase  in  the  most  impudent  and 
flippant  manner. 

Finally  he  planked  himself  down  comically,  his  hands 
on  his  hips,  before  the  shopkeeper,  and  looked  her  up 
and  down  fixedly.  And  when,  nettled  by  his  gaze,  the 
good  woman  changed  color,  recognizing  in  his  eyes  a 
familiar  expression,  Laurent  abruptly  threw  his  arms 
about  her  neck.  With  a  little  cry  she  had  already 
opened  her  arms  to  him. 

"It  is  I,  Siska,  I.    Laurent  Paridael,  your  Lorki  !'* 

"Lorki !  Monsieur  Laurent !  It  isn't  possible !"  the 
good  soul  exclaimed. 

She  released  him,  stepped  back  to  admire  him, 
hugged  him  again,  uttering  over  and  over  again: 

"What  an  old  rogue !  What  a  child  to  make  a  fool 
of  me  so  seriously !" 

However,  at  Siska's  cries  of  joy,  Vincent  had  run 
in,  no  less  agreeably  surprised  than  his  wife.  They 
took  Laurent  by  the  shoulders  and  pushed  him  into 
their  little  living  room. 

This  retreat  resembled  a  cabin  with  a  vengeance. 
During  the  day  a  window  as  narrow  as  a  porthole  ad- 
mitted a  dull,  filtered  light  as  though  it  were  submerged 
under  water.  Its  industrious  occupants  solved  anew 
each  day  the  problem  of  making  it  hold  the  greatest 
possible  number  of  people  and  objects.  There  was  not 
an  empty  inch  of  space.    The  walls  of  the  room  were 


THE  CAP  129 

daubed  in  a  brown  color  to  look  like  mahogany,  dec- 
orated with  cuts  of  travel  scenes ;  on  the  mantel  there 
was  a  miniature  three-master  riding  at  full  sail,  a 
masterpiece  of  Vincent's  handiwork,  and  several  of 
those  large  shells  which,  when  they  are  held  against 
the  ear,  reverberate  with  the  surge  of  the  sea. 

Laurent  found  himself  in  the  presence  of  a  string 
of  children  of  all  ages.  They  first  introduced  him  to 
Henriette,  a  demure  little  housewife.  She  had  an  oval 
face,  elongated  without  being  badly  proportioned,  blue 
eyes  that  were  astonishingly  tender,  and,  so  to  speak, 
milky,  blonde  curls,  a  quiet  and  confident  expression; 
her  whole  personality  spoke  sweetly  of  primordial  can- 
dor and  deep-seated  purity. 

Siska's  possession  of  such  a  grown-up  girl  puzzled 
Laurent  greatly.  Before  he  had  time  to  count  the 
number  of  years  that  had  slipped  by  since  their  mar- 
riage Vincent  profited  by  a  moment  during  which  the 
girl  left  the  room  to  whisper  in  his  ear,  nudging  him 
and  winking  as  he  laughed  heartily : 

"You  see.  Monsieur  Laurent,  after  Siska  had  put 
you  to  bed,  we  had  to  spend  the  time  somehow.  .  .  . 
The  humbug  only  slapped  me  and  held  me  off  while 
you  were  in  the  room  !'* 

And  Laurent  recalled  a  certain  mysterious  illness 
that  had  come  upon  the  servant,  and  with  what  joy 
and  good-heartedness  Jacques  Paridael  had  summoned 
her  home  after  a  month  in  the  country. 

After  Henriette  came  Felix,  a  long-limbed,  dark  lad 
of  fourteen,  who  resembled  his  father,  and  whom  Door 
Bergmans  had  engaged  as  office  and  errand  boy;  then 
Pierket,  a  delightful  little  chap  of  twelve  with  the 
blonde  hair  of  his  mother  and  big  sister,  and  the  fiery 
brown  eyes  and  slightly  ambered  coloring  of  his  father 


I30  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

and  Felix ;  and  Lusse,  a  baby  of  at  most  six  years,  the 
miniature  of  her  mother. 

How  many  confidences  were  poured  out!  Laurent 
told  the  Tilbaks  everything  that  had  happened  since 
Vincent  had  been  discharged,  but  his  bashfulness  kept 
him  from  saying  anything  about  Gina.  He  was  not 
sure  that  he  detested  her  as  much  as  he  would  have 
liked  to.  Had  he  not  just  conjured  up  her  image  on 
the  bank  of  the  Scheldt? 

Always  allured  by  his  favorite  element,  Vincent  had 
been  forced  to  relinquish  even  pilotage  and  the  coast- 
ing trade,  and  discharged  the  functions  of  a  ferryman, 
a  lighterman  and  a  barge  pilot  at  one  and  the  same 
time.  He  also  took  down  to  the  mouth  of  the  river  the 
river  clerks  sent  out  by  the  traffickers  to  meet  ships  at 
the  pilot  station. 

"And  you,  what  are  you  going  to  become?"  asked 
Vincent,  with  such  a  show  of  devotion  that  one  could 
never  have  taxed  him  with  indiscretion. 

The  young  man  himself  did  not  know.  He  had 
nothing  to  look  for  from  the  people  of  his  family,  and 
even  had  his  hundred  francs  of  income  been  enough 
to  live  on,  he  was  not  at  an  age  to  fritter  away  his  time. 

"If  I  understood  you  correctly,"  Siska's  husband 
resumed,  "you  would  prefer,  to  a  sedentary  occupation, 
a  job  that  would  leave  you  free  to  come  and  go  and 
give  you  plenty  of  exercise?  Perhaps  I  can  arrange 
it  for  you.  The  head  of  one  of  the  'Nations,'  a  com- 
rade of  mine,  needs  an  employee  who  can  help  him 
with  his  estimates  and  superintend  the  work,  both  at 
the  dockyards  and  at  the  warehouse.  Shall  I  speak  to 
him  about  you?" 

Laurent  could  ask  nothing  better;  it  was  arranged 
that  he  come  and  hear  the  result  the  next  day. 


)  ■• 


III 

SWARMS  AND  WASPS'  NESTS 

Master  Jean  Vingerhout  immediately  engaged 
the  young  man  recommended  by  his  friend  Vincent 
Tilbak.  Jean  was  a  jolly  fellow,  vigorously,  solidly 
built,  the  youngest  son  of  a  well-known  family  of 
farmers  of  the  Polders,  the  alluvions  of  the  Scheldt, 
who,  tired  of  farming  at  a  loss,  had  bought,  with  the 
proceeds  of  his  inheritance,  a  share  in  one  of  the 
"Nations." 

The  "Nations,"  trades  unions  reminiscent  of  the  an- 
cient Flemish  guilds,  shared  the  business  of  loading, 
unloading,  stowage,  cartage  and  warehousing  of  mer- 
chandise ;  they  formed  a  power  in  the  modern  city  upon 
which  the  most  powerful  merchants  had  to  rely,  for, 
combined,  they  had  at  their  command  an  army  of  not 
too  precise  workers  capable  of  entailing  a  complete 
paralysis  of  commerce  and  holding  the  power  of  the 
Municipal  Council  under  their  thumb.  With  them,  at 
least,  the  rights  of  the  native  sons  would  be  safe- 
guarded; no  immigrant  would  ever  supplant  the  true 
bom  inhabitant  of  the  district  of  Antwerp  as  baes,  or 
director,  or  even  as  a  simple  journeyman. 

The  "America,"  the  oldest  and  richest  of  these  na- 
tions, into  whose  service  Laurent  had  just  entered, 

131 


132  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

took  the  best  workmen,  had  at  its  command  the  finest 
horses,  possessed  model  buildings  and  a  highly  per- 
fected equipment.  Their  trucks,  harness,  cart  tilts,  lines, 
hampers,  pulleys  and  scales  were  unequalled  among  the 
rival  corporations.  From  Hoboken  to  Austruweel  and 
Merxem  one  met  only  their  busy  gangs  of  workmen. 
Their  weighers  and  gaugers  were  transhipping  grain 
imported  in  lighters  of  an  invariable  burden;  their 
porters  were  shouldering  sacks  and  bales  and  lining 
them  up  on  the  quays,  or  hoisting  them  into  drays, 
their  dockers  were  piling  planks,  beams  and  raw  wood 
upon  the  shore  in  assembling  the  products  of  the  same 
species. 

Too  long  accustomed  to  working  with  their  two  hands 
to  peg  away  with  pen  and  pencil,  it  was  to  Laurent 
that,  on  the  recommendation  of  their  colleague  Vinger- 
hout,  the  syndic  of  the  directors  or  haes,  they  entrust- 
ed the  office  work  and  the  task  of  checking  up,  at  the 
entrance  or  exit  of  the  docks,  the  accounts  turned  in 
by  the  weighers  and  gaugers  of  other  corporations. 

If  a  coffee  merchant,  a  customer  of  the  America, 
bought  up  a  part  of  a  colleague^s  commodity,  Laurent 
had  to  receive  the  stock  from  the  rival  Nation  with 
which  the  seller  had  dealt.  A  day's  weighing  in  the 
midst  of  a  tumult,  under  the  broiling  heat  of  the  sun, 
or  in  rain  or  snow,  was  frequently  his  lot.  But  he  was 
absorbed  in  his  work.  Hundreds  of  bales,  stamped 
and  numbered  from  the  first  to  the  last,  marched  past 
him.  He  added  up  columns  of  figures  as  he  kept  a 
sharp  watch  upon  the  records  of  the  scales.  For  be- 
ware of  mistakes!  If  the  buyer  did  not  find  what  he 
had  paid  for  he  would  hold  the  America  responsible 
for  the  mistake,  unless  Laurent  could  prove  that  the 
loss  emanated  from  the  seller  and  his  workmen. 


SWARMS  AND  WASPS'  NESTS        133 

Many  times  he  had  to  watch  shipments  from  the 
Dobouziez  factory,  and  it  was  not  without  emotion 
that  he  saw  the  white  cases  slashed  by  a  black  brush 
with  the  decisive  "D.  B.  Z." 

But  he  did  not  evince  the  slightest  regret  at  his 
change  in  position.  On  the  contrary.  He  rejoiced  in 
working  for  employers  who  were  without  any  arro- 
gance, these  baes,  who  were  so  easy  in  their  man- 
ner, instead  of  toiling  in  the  gloomy  salesroom  of 
a  Bejard  or  some  other  arrogant  parvenu.  In  sight  of 
the  roadstead  and  the  basins,  the  uninterrupted  move- 
ment of  landing  and  embarking,  the  gorging  or  dis- 
gorging of  cargoes,  the  coming  and  going  between  the 
floating  warehouses  and  the  docks  on  shore,  the  con- 
stant fall  of  merchandise  on  the  quay  and  into  the  bot- 
tom of  the  holds,  commerce  no  longer  seemed  an  ab- 
straction to  him,  but  a  tangible  and  imposing  organism. 

Laurent  often  attended  the  meeting  of  the  baes  in 
the  evening,  in  one  of  the  cafes  near  the  Port.  Wagons 
and  drays  had  been  put  in  the  sheds,  mangers  had  been 
filled,  litters  had  been  renewed.  The  horses  were  chew- 
ing their  oats,  the  accountant  had  closed  his  books,  the 
huge  buildings  now  sheltered  no  other  worker  than  the 
stable  watchman,  and  the  great  doors,  real  fortress 
gates,  protected  the  fortune  of  the  America  from  the 
attacks  of  thieves. 

What  clamorous  parties,  what  epic  unbosoming  of 
yarns,  what  smutty  stories !  Gods !  The  rugged  chiefs 
of  the  union,  these  baes  who  were  hardly  less  ill-bred 
than  their  subalterns,  let  loose  such  stiff  ones  that,  as 
they  themselves  put  it,  a  peasant  would  have  fallen  off 
his  horse  had  he  heard  them.  It  was  fine  to  see  them 
wash  their  mouths  with  a  deep  draught  after  an  out- 
rageous bit  of  wantonness  that  they  had  all  enjoyed. 


134  THE  NEW,  CARTHAGE 

and  which  made  them  all  rock  on  their  stools  and 
communicated  to  the  table,  the  army  of  half -litres  and 
the  window-panes  a  tremor  like  that  provoked  during 
the  day  by  one  of  their  enormous  wagons  jolting  along 
the  street. 

Laurent  came  away  from  these  meetings  dum found- 
ed, overpowered,  a  little  suffocated,  as  though  he  had 
been  surfeited  with  strong  quarters  of  beef,  or  even 
been  exposed,  like  a  ham,  to  prolonged  fumigation. 
And  in  the  face  of  these  hurricanes  of  abundant  hu- 
mour, how  could  anybody  charge  the  full-blooded  ex- 
uberance and  the  almost  brutal  license  of  the  colorists 
of  the  past  with  being  exaggerated  ? 

In  busy  times,  when  the  stationary  force  of  workers 
on  the  premises  was  not  sufficient  to  carry  on  the 
abundance  of  work,  Laurent  had  the  opportunity  of 
accompanying  Jean  Vingerhout  to  the  Coin  des  Pares- 
seux,  the  crowded  thoroughfare  bordering  the  Maison 
Hanseatique,  so  called  because  it  was  there  that  the 
perpetually  jobless  congregated.  Very  typical  were  the 
scenes  of  enlisting  and  recruiting  which  he  attended 
there !  The  first  time  Laurent  did  not  understand  why 
baes  Jean,  needing  a  reinforcement  of  only  five  men, 
had  bothered  himself  with  twenty  of  these  tramps,  all 
very  strong,  certainly,  and  even  built  for  gigantic  la- 
bors, but  who  exercised  their  muscles  only  in  fighting, 
and  mixed  too  much  alcohol  with  their  rich  blood. 

"Just  you  wait !"  said  the  baes,  who  knew  his  men, 
with  a  laugh. 

After  the  most  ridiculous  negotiations  they  finally 
accepted  his  terms  and  started  on  their  way,  but  re- 
luctantly, and  sighing  in  the  most  heartrending  fash- 
ion after  every  step.  About  twenty  meters  away  from 
their  standing  place,  one  or  another  of  these  lazaroni 


SWARMS  AND  WASPS'  NESTS        135 

of  the  north  would  stop  short  and  declare  he  could  go 
no  further  unless  he  were  given  a  drink. 

Vingerhout  having  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  this  de- 
mand, the  thirsty  one  dragged  along  grumbling,  ready 
to  give  vent  to  the  same  declaration  a  few  steps  further 
along.  Although  two  other  recruits  had  upheld  the 
petition  of  their  comrade  by  a  suggestive  smacking  of 
their  lips  and  gestures  worthy  of  Tantalus,  the  re- 
cruiter paid  no  more  attention  to  them  than  he  had 
before. 

At  the  third  liquor  shop,  that  is  to  say,  the  sixth 
house,  the  sufferer  gave  in,  and,  with  an  oath  of  des- 
pair, deserted  the  troop  for  the  bar,  which  drew  him 
more  irresistibly  than  any  magnet.  His  two  partisans 
dragged  along  until  the  next  temptation  presented  it- 
self, and  then,  after  a  supreme  but  unsuccessful  plea 
to  their  recruiter,  they  resumed  their  libations  to  the 
god  Gin. 

Laurent  began  to  understand  why  Vingerhout  had 
enlisted  the  contingent. 

"Those  three  were  drunkards  and  licensed  loafers !" 
said  the  baes.  *T  engaged  them  more  to  ease  my  con- 
science than  for  any  other  reason,  for  I  was  sure  that 
they  would  give  me  the  slip  at  the  first  turn.  And  I 
am  not  sure  of  the  others!'* 

Jean  had  good  reason  to  distrust  their  force  of  char- 
acter. The  dockyard  to  which  they  were  going  being 
about  a  kilometer  further  on,  a  few  more  defections 
became  manifest,  one  man  debouching  the  other,  so 
that  when  they  finally  arrived  at  their  destination,  there 
only  remained  to  Vingerhout  the  five  hands  that  he 
required. 

"We  ought  to  thank  our  lucky  stars  that  even  they 
did  not  give  us  the  slip  at  the  last  minute,  and  so 


136  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

make  us  return  to  their  fishpond  and  commence  an- 
gling all  over  again !"  concluded  the  Polderian  philoso- 
pher, without  in  any  other  way  epiloguing  this  edifying 
episode.  And  in  recognition  of  their  kindness  he 
treated  them  to  a  round  of  gin. 

Laurent  learned  to  know  queer  chaps,  even  more  ec- 
centric than  these  loafers,  on  his  trips  with  Vincent 
Tilbak,  who  took  one  or  another  of  the  river  clerks 
down  to  meet  an  arrival  in  his  boat.  Having  weighed 
anchor,  the  oarsman  could  only  scull  at  first,  in  order 
to  make  his  way  out  of  the  basin  and  the  roadstead 
without  crashing  into  barges  and  boats  at  anchor.  The 
yawl  passed  between  two  ships  whose  dead  hulks  re- 
sembled somnolent  whales  having  the  winking  ship 
lights  for  eyes.  Then  Tilbak  began  to  row  quickly. 
An  intermittent  silence,  more  impressive  than  absolute 
calm,  hovered  above  the  earth  and  the  sky.  Laurent 
listened  to  the  grinding  of  the  oars  in  the  oarlocks,  to 
the  drip  of  the  water  from  the  blades,  to  the  plashing 
of  the  water  under  the  keel.  From  time  to  time  a 
"Who  goes  there  ?"  came  from  a  custom-house  launch 
searching  for  smugglers.  The  name  and  the  voice  of 
Tilbak  made  the  excise  men  more  sociable.  At  Doe! 
they  passed  the  night,  according  to  the  season,  in  the 
common  room  of  the  frugal  inn,  a  hut  built  of  tarred 
wood,  or  beneath  the  stars,  on  the  grassy  dike. 

There  they  met  a  fraudulent  crowd  of  industrious 
time-servers  whom  Laurent  had  leisure  to  observe 
minutely.  Unlicensed  brokers,  couriers,  dragomen  for 
places  of  ill  repute,  or,  of  a  still  lower  rank,  defaulting 
pilots'  apprentices,  discharged  stewards'  boys,  wharf 
rats  come  from  the  reformatory,  young  fish  from  the 
penitentiary,  usually  called  "runners."  Beardless, 
sharp-witted  youths,  they  were  as  greatly  given  to 


SWARMS  AND  WASPS'  NESTS        137 

prowling  by  night  as  torn  cats,  and  as  insinuating  as 
girls;  good  bait  for  fishing  in  troubled  waters. 

"Don't  be  afraid,  Monsieur  Lorki,"  said  Tilbak,  mis- 
understanding Laurent's  amazement  at  the  sight  of 
this  bivouac  of  smugglers. 

Laurent,  however,  was  concealing  a  more  than  par- 
tial curiosity  beneath  a  very  plausible  constraint  and 
repugnance.  They  were  chewing  tobacco,  cheating  at 
cards,  passing  the  bottle,  behaving  as  loosely  as  they 
could,  mixing  with  their  Burgundian-Flemish  dialect 
the  terms  of  a  cosmopolitan  language,  eructations  of 
slang.  Trickery,  anger,  the  lust  for  gain,  and  vice 
ruffled  faces  that  were  comely  when  shaded  by  the  large 
peaks  of  sailors'  caps,  and  the  Rembrandtesque  light  of 
the  wretched  little  den,  the  fleeting  moonlight  and  the 
coppery  false-dawn  without,  such  a  false-dawn  as  usu- 
ally graces  an  execution,  lent  them  an  added  ambig- 
uity. 

The  good  Tilbak,  whom  they  respected  sufficiently 
to  let  his  customer  pass  first,  disliked  them  from  his 
sailor  days. 

"They  know  how  to  gouge  the  seafolk!"  he  said. 
"Ah !  How  they  used  to  make  me  swear,  those  sloppy 
tars.  The  temptations  and  the  claptrap  chatter  that 
I  had  to  suffer  when  they  swooped  down  on  my  deck 
like  a  school  of  flying  fish.  Fortunately  I  was  too 
smitten  with  Siska  to  let  myself  be  caught  by  their  bait. 
They  used  to  have  samples  of  it,  and  their  favors 
brought  a  market  price.  I  would  never  have  been  fool 
enough  to  pledge  them  my  advance  pay,  my  flesh  and 
my  welfare.  Never  mind;  I  was  glad  to  get  on  dry 
land  in  order  to  escape  their  hooks.  I  tell  you.  Mon- 
sieur Laurent,  those  runners  are  the  true  agents  of  the 
seven  deadly  sins !" 


138  THE  NEW.  CARTHAGE 

Vincent  Tilbak  should  have  noticed  that,  instead 
of  sharing  his  animadversion,  Laurent  was  scruti- 
nizing the  young  runners  with  unseasonable  kind- 
ness. 

One  day  he  let  his  mentor  hear  of  the  affinity  that 
he  had  discovered  between  these  nasty  little  fellows 
and  himself. 

At  this  confidence  the  face  of  Vincent  Tilbak  ex- 
pressed such  pitiful  consternation  that  the  madcap 
hastened  to  disavow  his  misplaced  sympathies,  and  de- 
clared, not  without  blushing,  that  he  had  simply  wanted 
to  joke.  Perverted  and  obstinate  instincts  smouldered 
within  him.  From  them  arose,  without  his  being  able 
to  explain  them,  the  muffled  desires,  the  enervating 
pangs,  the  painful  curiosity,  and  the  jealous  and  piti- 
able heartaches,  at  once  timorous  and  tender,  that  used 
to  torment  him  before  the  wild  Stone  Mill,  the  haunt, 
but  also  the  asylum,  of  asymmetrical  souls. 

The  hard-working  and  salubrious  life  that  he  led 
with  honest  and  upright  fellows  like  Jean  Vingerhout, 
the  friendship  of  Vincent  and  Siska,  but  even  more 
greatly,  the  gentle  influence  of  Henriette,  should  have 
deferred  the  hatching  of  these  morbid  germs.  Laurent 
had  become  an  habitual  guest  at  the  Tilbaks  for  meals. 
A  fraternal  confidence  grew  up  immediately  between 
himself  and  Henriette.  Never  before  had  he  felt  so 
greatly,  the  gentle  influence  of  Henriette,  should  have 
charmed  opposite  a  person  of  the  other  sex.  He  seemed 
to  have  known  her  for  a  long  time.  It  was  just  as  if 
they  had  grown  up  together.  In  the  evening  Laurent 
helped  the  children,  Pierket  and  Lusse,  to  write  their 
exercises  and  learn  their  lessons.  The  elder  sister, 
tending  to  her  housekeeping,  coming  and  going  through 
the  room,  used  to  admire  the  young  fellow's  knowl- 


SWARMS  AND  WASPS'  NESTS        139 

edge.  After  supper  he  read  out  loud  to  the  whole  fam- 
ily, or  instructed  them  in  talking  to  them.  Henrietta 
would  listen  with  a  fervor  not  free  from  uneasiness. 
When  he  talked  of  world  issues  and  of  the  condition 
of  humanity  the  young  girl  was  much  more  impressed 
by  the  excitement,  the  restlessness  and  the  revolt  that 
talk  betrayed,  than  by  the  actual  sense  of  his  objurga- 
tions. With  the  second-sight  of  an  affectionate  fem- 
inine soul,  she  guessed  him  to  be  fundamentally  sad 
and  troubled,  and  the  more  he  showed  solicitude  for 
the  unfortunates,  the  suffering  and  the  misguided,  the 
more  did  she  become  frankly  absorbed  in  him, 
having  a  presentiment  that  among  all  this  world's 
wretched  people  this  one  had  the  greatest  need  for 
charity. 

On  the  other  hand,  when  he  was  with  her,  the  train 
of  his  thought  took  a  less  harassing  turn.  Under  the 
protecting  caress  of  her  great  blue  eyes,  ingenuously 
fixed  upon  him,  he  saw  only  the  present  quietude,  the 
loyal  ambience,  and  the  smile  of  life.  He  ceased  to 
look  for  difficulties  where  there  were  none,  and 
doomed  his  stormy  speculations  to  silence. 

Formerly,  at  the  factory,  the  pupils  of  Gina's  eyes 
had  injected  a  traitorous  liquid  under  his  skin;  he 
could  not  contain  himself,  became  bad,  dreamed  of 
ruin  and  reprisals,  a  rising  of  the  humble  and  a  revolt 
of  the  servile,  after  which  he  would  have  seized,  as 
part  of  his  booty,  the  proud  and  scornful  patrician  girl 
and  subdued  her  to  the  outrages  of  his  burning  desire. 
It  was  as  much  due  to  bitterness  toward  Gina  as  to 
hate  of  the  directors  and  capitalists  that  he  had  turned 
to  the  exploited.  He  was  going  to  descend  to  the  sub- 
versive pariahs  when  he  met  proletarians  who  were 
reconciled  to  their  lot.     He  became  a  kind  of  dilet- 


I40  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

tante  laborer.  The  wholesomeness,  the  placidity,  the 
good  humor  and  the  philosophy  of  the  people  in  his 
new  surroundings,  especially  the  sweetness  and  the 
charm  of  Henriette  allayed  his  bitterness  and  his  grief, 
made  him  complacent  and  almost  an  opportunist.  The 
image  of  Gina  began  to  pale. 


IV 

THE  CANTATA 

While  strolling  about  the  quays  Door  Bergmans 
Saw  a  fellow  whose  expression  attracted  him.  He 
started  with  astonishment.  "I  must  be  mistaken,"  he 
thought,  as  he  continued  on  his  way.  But,  having  gone 
a  few  steps,  he  turned  back,  and,  making  sure  that  it 
really  was  Laurent  Paridael,  walked  toward  him  with 
his  hand  outstretched. 

Laurent,  who  was  busy  superintending  the  loading 
of  a  cargo  of  bales  of  rice  contracted  for  by  the  Amer- 
ica, was  a  little  disconcerted,  and  even  tried  to  shun 
him,  but,  reassured  by  the  simple  and  kindly  greeting, 
left  his  post  for  the  moment  and  let  himself  be  drawn 
a  few  feet  away.  When  he  heard  the  news,  Bergmans 
teased  him  gently  about  the  whim  that  had  made  him 
enter  the  service  of  a  Nation  as  tally  keeper,  and  assist 
the  stevedores.  Why  had  he  not  come  to  him  ?  Berg- 
mans offered  him  on  the  spot  a  place  more  worthy 
of  his  talents  and  more  compatible  with  his  education. 
But,  to  his  great  surprise,  Laurent  refused  to  abandon 
his  new  position.  He  described  his  new  surroundings 
and  his  new  friends  with  such  lyricism  and  in  such 
enthusiastic  terms  that  he  almost  justified  his  strange 
vocation,  and  Bergmans  thought  better  of  insisting 
any  further.     He  abstained  from  speaking  of  Gina. 

141 


142  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

Put  completely  at  his  ease,  Laurent  hailed  with  delight 
the  proposition  that  he,  Bergmans,  Marbol  and  Vyve- 
loy  should  meet  from  time  to  time. 

The  artist  Marbol,  a  little,  dry  man,  all  nerves,  con- 
cealed beneath  an  anemic  and  delicate  appearance,  an 
extraordinary  fund  of  energy  and  perseverance.  With- 
in the  past  two  or  three  years  he  had  gained  something 
of  a  reputation  for  painting  what  he  saw  about  him. 
Alone  in  this  great  city  literally  infested  by  daubers 
and  studio  painters,  in  this  ancient  hotbed  of  art  now 
almost  totally  extinguished — a  necropolis  rather  than 
a  metropolis — ^he  was  commencing  to  exploit  the  local 
"plein-air,"  streets,  scenery  and  types.  He  had  left 
the  ancient  academy  founded  by  Teniers  and  the  deli- 
cious realists  of  the  seventeenth  century,  but  now 
fallen  in  the  hands  of  false  artists,  as  timid  painters 
as  they  were  intolerant  teachers,  with  a  certain  eclat 
on  the  eve  of  the  concours  de  Rome.  In  so  doing,  the 
young  man  had  made  enemies  of  the  official  coterie, 
the  dealers,  the  amateurs,  the  critics  and  the  collectors, 
those  who  procure  bread  as  well  as  those  who  award 
renown. 

To  paint  Antwerp,  its  life,  its  harbor,  its  river,  its 
sailors,  its  dockers,  its  luxuriant  women,  its  rosy  and 
chubby  children  whom  Rubens,  in  other  days,  had 
thought  sufficiently  plastic  and  appetizing  to  populate 
his  heavens  and  Olympuses ;  to  paint  this  human  mob 
in  its  own  ways,  its  costume  and  surroundings,  with 
the  most  scrupulous  and  cherishing  care  for  its  spe- 
cial customs  and  morals,  without  neglecting  any  of  the 
correlations  which  accentuate  and  characterize  it;  to 
interpret  the  very  soul  of  the  city  of  Rubens  with  a 
sympathy  bordering  upon  assimilation — what  a  pro- 
gram and  what  an  objective!    It  was,  from  the  point 


THE  CANTATA  143 

of  view  of  these  makers  and  buyers  of  dolls  and  man- 
nequins, the  deed  of  a  crazy  man,  of  an  eccentric  rad- 
ical. 

One  of  Marbol's  paintings,  destined  for  a  foreign 
international  exposition,  and  submited  before  be- 
ing sent  to  the  approval  of  his  fellow  townsmen,  sent 
them  all  into  shrieks  of  laughter,  and  made  him  the 
object  of  ironic  condolence  and  bitter  and  distrustful 
silence.    This  picture  was  "Dockers  Resting." 

At  noon,  upon  an  unharnessed  truck  close  to  the 
docks,  three  workmen  were  lying  down.  One  lay 
on  his  back,  his  legs  spread  slightly  apart,  his 
head  resting  between  his  bent  arms,  in  his  hands 
clasped  beneath  his  neck.  His  face  was  swarthy,  rough, 
but  handsome,  half  asleep,  his  eyelids  slightly  parted 
and  showing  the  velvety  black  of  the  pupils.  The  two 
other  dockers  had  thrown  themselves  down  flat  on  their 
stomachs;  the  bottom  of  their  leathery,  smoky  coats 
tightened  across  their  well-developed  haunches;  their 
chests  were  slightly  lifted;  their  chins  rested  in 
their  calloused  hands;  leaning  upon  their  elbows, 
they  turned  their  backs  to  the  spectators,  show- 
ing their  curly  heads,  their  ears,  the  powerful  muscles 
of  their  necks  and  their  broad  backs  as  they  gaped  at 
a  corner  of  the  roadstead  that  glistened  amidst  the 
forest  of  masts. 

In  Paris  this  audacious  canvas  drew  forth  a  studio 
war  and  ferocious  polemics;  for  years  past  such  a 
hue  and  cry  had  not  been  raised.  Marbol  made  as 
many  friends  as  he  did  enemies ;  a  goodly  number  of 
each.  One  of  the  big  dealers  of  the  chausee  d'Antin, 
having  bought  the  scandalous  composition,  the  dealers 
of  Antwerp  shuddered  with  rage  and  astonishment. 
What  honest  man  could  have  consented  to  hang  this 


144  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

portrait  of  three  ragged  workmen,  badly  clothed,  un- 
shorn, fleshy,  gross,  with  disquieting  haunches  and 
fists?  To  reveal  the  full  extent  of  his  horror,  Du- 
poissy  had  written  that  the  picture  exhaled  an  odor 
of  sweat  and  red  herring  and  onions ;  that  he  scented 
its  low  debauchery. 

Another  exposition  was  held  in  Paris.  Marbol  en- 
tered a  picture  no  less  audacious  than  the  first,  and, 
to  the  redoubled  stupefaction  of  the  hostile  and  tim- 
orous clan,  the  jurors  awarded  him  the  grand 
medal. 

Even  though  the  high  priests  of  painting  maliciously 
ranged  themselves  in  opposition  to  the  young  painter, 
these  successes,  shortly  afterward  ratified  in  Munich, 
Vienna  and  London,  gave  the  amateurs  and  collectors 
of  Antwerp  high  society  something  to  brood  upon.  It 
could  not  be  denied  that  the  fellow  was  making  a 
success.  If  he  had  been  able  to  prove  his  superiority 
only  by  what  is  called  fame ;  magazine  articles,  applause 
from  the  starving,  who,  when  they  lack  food,  find  nour- 
ishment in  dreams,  had  this  been  the  case,  practical 
people  would  have  continued  to  shrug  their  shoulders 
at  this  blustering  bungler.  But  from  the  minute  that 
he  was  able  to  finger  his  gold  pieces  his  case  became 
interesting. 

"Well,  well!  Surely  a  weird  taste!  Painting  that 
isn't  at  all  decorative;  pictures  that  one  would  not 
wish  to  hang  in  one's  home,  at  least  not  in  a  lady's 
sitting  room.  But  he  is  a  clever  business  man,  and 
very  shrewd  after  all.  He  did  not  make  his  plans 
so  very  badly,  either.  And  what  difference  does  it 
make  that  he  paints  pictures  that  one  would  not  touch 
with  a  pair  of  tongs,  since  we  all  entertain  that  nice 
chap  Vanderzeepen,  even  though  we  all  know  that  the 


THE  CANTATA  145 

worthy  man  made  his  two  hundred  houses,  his  resi- 
dence in  the  Place  de  Meir,  and  his  chateau  at  Bors- 
beek  out  of  the  proceeds  of  a  sewage  collecting  plant? 
Like  Vanderzeepen,  this  Monsieur  Marbol  has  found 
the  philosopher's  stone;  with  all  due  respect,  he  has 
made  gold  out  of  dung!" 

Prejudice  began  to  give  way.  The  captains  of  high 
finance  commenced  to  bow  to  this  person  whom  they 
had  formerly  thought  a  mangy  tatterdemalion;  they 
even  risked  mentioning  his  name  before  their  very 
prudish  wives,  a  thing  which,  a  few  months  before, 
would  have  seemed  most  unconventional.  Not  being 
decently  able  to  extol  his  incendiary  and  anarchistic  art, 
they  pretended  to  praise  Marbol's  commercial  genius 
and  ability  in  raising  cash  with  such  facility  upon  his 
disagreeable  daubs  and  scarecrows  from  rich  Parisians, 
jocular  Yankees,  or  Englishmen,  who,  as  every  one 
knows,  are  partial  to  monstrous  and  peculiar 
scenes. 

The  musician  Rombaut  de  Vyveloy,  Door  Bergmans' 
other  friend,  brought  to  mind,  because  of  his  height, 
his  robust  build,  his  leonine  head,  and  its  abundant 
shock  of  hair,  and  his  ruddy  complexion,  the  figure  of 
the  chief  of  the  gods  in  the  Jordaens  "]\x^\itv  and 
Mercury  at  the  house  of  Philemon  and  Baucis."  This 
Brabantian  was,  if  not  a  pagan,  at  least  a  man  of  the 
Renaissance.  There  was  nothing  about  him,  either 
physically  or  morally,  that  suggested  the  dull  sanctity 
of  the  emaciated  types  to  be  found  in  the  work  of 
primitives  like  Memling  or  Van  Eyck.  He  had  trans- 
formed old  Bach's  Christian  oratorio  into  one  of  pan- 
theism. 

The  passionate  and  essentially  plastic  art  of  Vyve- 
loy was  bound  to  make  a  deeper  impression  upon  Lau- 


146  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

rent  Paridael  than  Marbol's  paintings,  which,  although 
strong  in  conception,  were  a  Httle  weak  and  a  Httle 
frigid  in  realization,  and  which,  ^as  he  began  to  feel 
more  and  more  undeniably  as  time  went  on,  were  not 
vibrant  enough. 

That  year  Antwerp  inaugurated  the  celebration  of 
the  tercentenary  of  Rubens'  birth  with  a  cantata  by 
Rombaut  de  Vyveloy,  sung  one  evening  in  the  Place 
Verte  in  the  open  air.  Laurent  did  not  fail  to  attend 
this  performance. 

Near  the  statue  of  the  great  Peter-Paul,  the  chorus 
and  the  orchestra  occupied  a  semi-circular  grand  stand, 
in  the  center  of  which  the  composer  was  enthroned. 
The  square,  which  had  been  roped  off,  was  allotted  to 
the  bourgoisie.  The  common  people,  crowding  into 
the  surrounding  places,  respected  the  demarcation,  and 
the  converging  streets  vomited  forth  increasing  mobs 
in  vain ;  the  appalling  multitude  appeared  more  digni- 
fied and  more  calm  than  the  privileged  spectators,  and 
less  riotous  than  the  obnoxious  police  or  the  cumber- 
ing mounted  gendarmes.  There  were  no  scuffling  and 
no  murmuring.  For  hours  past  workmen  and  poor 
people  had  stamped  about  in  their  places  without  los- 
ing any  of  their  good  humor  or  serenity.  What  fluid 
had  silenced  these  riotous  tongues  and  turbulent  pates  ? 
Arms  crossed  themselves  placidly  on  breasts  that  were 
panting  with  curiosity.  Did  not  these  Antwerpians  of 
robust  stock  but  lowly  rank  anticipate  the  unique  splen- 
dor of  the  celebration  which  they  were  preluding  with 
such  impressiveness  ?  The  infants  on  the  housewives' 
arms  abstained  from  wailing,  and  the  street  dogs  cir- 
culated amidst  the  compact  plantation  of  legs  without 
being  molested  by  their  natural  tormentors,  the  street 
boys. 


THE  CANTATA  147 

And  in  this  impressive  and  magnetic  silence,  above 
the  flowing  sea  of  curdling  surges,  upon  which  the  blue 
shadows,  descending  gently,  caressingly,  had  stretched 
an  additional  peace  and  solemnity,  there  fell  from  the 
highest  gallery  of  the  structure,  where  the  eye  tried 
in  vain  to  discern  the  heralds  at  arms,  the  martial  fan- 
fare of  trumpets  playing  in  unison.  And  the  soprani 
of  the  sister  cities,  Bruges  and  Ghent,  hailed  and  ac- 
claimed the  Metropolis  again  and  again.  Their  salu- 
tations, ever  warmer  and  more  strident,  were  followed 
by  the  hoarse  blasts  of  the  aerial  fanfare.  After  this 
dialogue  the  carillon  began  to  tintinnabulate,  slowly  and 
muted  at  first,  like  a  covey  awakening  at  dawn  in  the 
dew  of  a  coppice,  then  springing  into  life,  elevating 
their  voices,  darting  forth  in  flight  with  a  shower  of 
chords  of  jubilation.  A  burst  of  sunshine.  iThen  the 
orchestra  and  the  choruses  entered  the  lists.  And  this 
was  the  apotheosis  of  Wealth  and  Art. 

The  poet  extolled  the  Great  Market  in  virulent 
strophes,  in  hyperbolical  and  sonorous  commonplaces 
to  which  the  mise-en-scene,  the  ecstacy  of  the  crowd, 
and  Vyveloy^s  music  lent  a  sublime  import.  The  four 
quarters  of  the  globe  came  to  salute  Antwerp,  all  the 
nations  of  the  globe  were  paying  her  humble  tribute, 
and,  as  if  modem  times  and  the  middle  ages  were  not 
enough  to  swell  the  triumphant  sails  of  the  proud  city, 
the  cantata  went  back  to  antiquity  and  enlisted  the 
forty  centuries  of  the  Pyramids  as  mace-bearers  and 
lictors.  Everything,  time  and  the  universe,  geography 
and  history,  the  infinite  and  the  eternal,  blended,  in 
this  work,  into  a  celebration  of  the  city  of  Rubens. 
And  in  closing  one's  eyes  one  could  have  imagined  the 
passing  of  a  majestic  cortege  before  the  throne  of  the 
preeminently  triumphant  painter. 


148  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

When  it  was  over  and  the  garrison  band,  at  the  head 
of  the  torchhght  procession,  took  up,  as  they  began  to 
march,  the  principal  theme  of  the  cantata,  Laurent, 
tinghng  to  his  very  marrow,  his  nerves  coursing  with 
an  indefinable  and  contagious  enthusiasm,  momentar- 
ily beside  himself,  locked  step  with  the  soldiers  and 
pushed  on  with  the  equally  enthusiastic  and  excited 
mob  in  which  bourgeois  and  workmen,  entangled  arm 
in  arm,  struck  up  in  full  voice  the  dithyrambic 
chant. 

Tirelessly  Laurent  marched  with  the  procession  over 
the  whole  of  its  route. 

The  flowing  escort  renewed  itself  with  fresh  relays 
at  every  corner,  but  in  vain,  for  in  his  intense  excite- 
ment he  could  not  bring  himself  to  leave  it.  Vyveloy*s 
music  would  have  carried  him  to  the  end  of  the  world. 
Although  others  were  used  up  by  the  heroic  measures 
of  the  torchlight  procession  and  disappeared  in  the 
cross  streets,  he  was  conscious  of  an  even-increasing 
intrepidity  in  his  legs  and  flame  in  his  heart.  New 
marchers,  however,  were  always  replacing  those  who 
had  dropped  out,  and  the  character  of  the  procession 
varied  with  the  quarters  that  it  traversed.  Along  the 
roadstead  and  the  basins  Laurent  felt  the  elbows  of 
sailors  and  dockers ;  in  the  heart  of  the  city  he  became 
one  of  a  crowd  of  salesmen  and  shop  girls;  on  the 
boulevards  of  the  new  city  he  found  himself  again  with 
young  men  of  good  family  and  the  clerks  of  the  largest 
firms;  finally,  in  the  labyrinths  of  the  Quartier  Saint 
Andre,  the  habitation  of  the  beggars,  waifs  and  strays, 
bareheaded  wantons  took  his  arm  familiarly,  and  tawny 
young  blackguards,  perhaps  runners,  carried  him  off 
in  their  farandole.  All  for  Antwerp,  all  for  Reubens. 
Laurent  heard  only  the  cantata ;  he  was  filled  and  sat- 


THE  CANTATA  149 

urated  with  it.  He  accompanied  the  bands  to  their 
last  halting  place,  sad  and  almost  frustrated  when  the 
gunners,  having  dismounted,  blew  out  the  Venetian 
lanterns  hung  upon  their  wooden  lances,  and  tram- 
pled the  last  resin  torches  under  their  heels. 


THE  ELECTION 

"Ah  !  haughty  city,  wealthy  city,  selfish  city,  city  of 
wolves  so  eager  for  their  prey  that  they  devour  each 
other  when  there  are  no  more  sheep  to  shear  to  the 
bone!  City  conforming  to  the  spirit  of  Darwin's 
law!  Fecund  city,  but  harsh  mother!  In  your  hypo- 
critical corruption,  your  blatancy,  your  licentiousness, 
your  opulence,  your  greedy  instincts,  your  hatred  of 
the  poor,  your  fear  of  hirelings,  you  conjure  up  Car- 
thage before  me.  Were  you  of  Carthage,  too,  not 
filled  with  the  prejudice  against  soldiers  that  Ant- 
werp still  maintains  ?  Even  Antwerpians  whose  sons 
are  in  the  army  are  pitiless  and  harsh  with  troopers.  In 
no  other  part  of  Belgium  does  one  hear  of  terrible 
brawls  between  soldiers  and  the  bourgoisie,  of  the  am- 
bushes where  the  slaughterers  fall  upon  a  drunken  sol- 
dier on  leave  as  he  is  returning  to  some  barracks  in 
the  slums  or  a  fort  lost  at  the  very  end  of  a  suburb.* 

"Who  have  we  at  the  head  of  Antwerp  ?  Vain,  stu- 
pid councillors,  as  inflated  as  were  the  magistrates  of 


♦Attention  must  be  called  to  the  fact  that  this  book  was 
written  before  the  introduction  into  Belgium  of  compulsory  per- 
sonal military  service.  The  same  observation  applies  to  im- 
portant passages  in  the  third  part,  notably  thQ  chapter  entitled 
Contumacy.    G,  E, 

ISO 


THE  ELECTION  151 

Carthage.  Do  you  know  what  their  last  stroke  was, 
Bergmans;  do  you  know  it? 

"One  day,  having  nothing  else  to  demolish  and  re- 
build, always  an  annoying  situation  to  municipal  coun- 
cillors, they  decreed  to  tear  down  the  Tour  Bleue,  one 
of  the  few  specimens  of  the  military  architecture  of  the 
fourteenth  century  remaining  in  Europe.  All  the 
artists  and  connoisseurs  of  the  city  stirred  themselves 
up,  protested  against  it,  sent  petitions  to  the  "Regency." 
In  the  face  of  this  opposition,  what  did  our  soothsay- 
ers do?  They  deigned  to  consult  the  famous  expert, 
Viollet-Le-Duc.  The  archaelogist  agreed  with  all 
the  artists  in  favor  of  maintaining  the  old  bastille. 
Look,  then,  upon  their  queer  fellow  who  allowed  him- 
self to  be  of  another  mind  than  these  omniscient  mer- 
chants! And  they  had  nothing  more  urgent  to  do 
than  to  raze  the  venerable  relic  without  any  form  of 
trial.  .  .  . 

"And,  nevertheless,  a  sublime  city!  You  are  right, 
Rombaut,  to  praise  its  indefinable  charm,  which  closes 
the  mouths  of  her  detractors.  We  cannot  bear  her  a 
grudge  for  having  given  herself  to  that  brood  of  pluto- 
crats. We  love  her  as  we  would  a  wanton  and  flirta- 
tious woman,  as  we  would  a  treacherous  and  adorable 
courtesan.  And  even  her  pariahs  do  not  consent  to 
curse  her !" 

It  was  Laurent  Paridael  who  was  railing  thus  before 
Bergmans,  Rombaut  and  Marbol,  at  the  cabaret  Croix- 
Blanche,  on  the  Plaine  du  Bourg. 

"Good !  The  young  docker's  servant  is  taking  the  bit 
in  his  teeth,"  said  Vyveloy.  "And  all  because  he  finds 
that  I  have  put  too  much  chauvinism  in  my  cantata,  at 
the  expense  of  Bruges  and  Ghent.  The  devil!  You 
can  understand  the  shortsightedness  of  the  parish  bel- 


152  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

fry  when  the  belfry  happens  to  be  the  pile  of  Notre 
Dame!" 

"Absolutely,"  said  Bergmans,  approvingly.  "And 
then,  too,  Antwerp  will  undergo  a  moral  regeneration 
also.  She  will  shake  off  the  yoke  that  degrades  her. 
She  will  be  restored  again  to  her  true  children.  You 
will  see  it,  Paridael;  the  oppressed  masses  are  becom- 
ing insubordinate.  I  tell  you  that  a  new  order  will 
soon  come  into  being!  A  breath  of  emancipation  and 
youth  has  blown  across  the  mob;  there  is  something 
better  here  than  a  rich  and  proud  city ;  there  is  a  peo- 
ple no  less  interesting  who  are  commencing  to  revolt 
against  the  representatives  who  do  serve  them  badly 
and  compromise  them." 

Bergmans'  prediction  was  not  long  delayed  in  its 
realization.  For  a  long  time  the  air  had  been  charged 
with  electricity.  Vyveloy*s  passionate  cantata  had  con- 
tributed in  no  small  measure  to  the  reawakening  of 
the  population.  The  rich  folk,  in  taking  the  initiative 
in  a  celebration  in  honor  of  Rubens,  had  not  expected 
to  raise  up  such  a  ferment.  It  happened  that  the 
painters  of  the  Renaissance  began  to  evoke  the  lead- 
ers of  men  of  the  sixteenth  century,  William  the 
Silent,  Mamix  of  Sainte-Aldegonde.  They  exhumed, 
an  an  ensign,  the  insulting  epithet  of  the  days  of 
Charles  V.  and  Philip  II.,  the  name  of  "gueux"  which 
their  valiant  ancestors  had  been  proud  to  bear  as  a 
badge  of  honor. 

The  mummified  nobility,  indifferent  to  all  and  ultra- 
mundane in  addition,  perhaps  rejoiced  at  the  dissension 
which  the  new  current  had  in  store  for  the  upstarts, 
but  did  not  dare  to  sponsor  a  party  united  under  the 
name  and  the  banner  of  the  victorious  adversaries  of 
Catholic  Spain. 


THE  ELECTION  153 

The  effervescence  swayed,  above  all,  the  working 
population  of  the  harbor. 

Isolated  conflicts  had  already  broken  out  between 
Bejard  and  the  Nations.  At  first  there  were  disagree- 
ments over  an  account  due  from  him  to  the  America. 
The  shipowner  constantly  refused  to  pay  his  bill.  Then 
there  arrived  from  Riga  a  grain  ship  with  a  cargo 
consigned  to  the  recalcitrant  debtor. 

Bejard  applied  for  the  unloading  of  his  merchandise 
to  one  of  his  creditor's  rivals,  but  under  such  condi- 
tions the  corporations  made  common  cause,  and  the 
Nation  sought  by  him  refused  the  enterprise  until  he 
should  have  settled  with  their  competitors.  He  ap- 
plied to  a  third  and  a  fourth  Nation,  meeting  the  same 
reply  from  both. 

Obstinate  and  furious,  he  had  dockers  brought  from 
Flushing,  the  nearest  seaport.  The  Antwerpian  dock- 
ers threw  many  of  the  Hollanders  into  the  basins,  and 
took  them  out  half -drowned,  only  to  plunge  them  in 
again,  so  that  all  of  them  took  the  train  home  for 
their  country  the  same  day,  swearing  that  they  never 
again  could  be  forced  to  interfere  with  and  oppose  the 
the  expeditious  Antwerpians  in  their  strikes.  In  truth, 
when  these  workmen,  as  even-tempered  as  they  were 
vigorous,  decided  to  become  nasty,  they  did  it  in  the 
fashion  of  felines. 

Bejard,  having  heard  of  the  desertion  of  the  Hol- 
landers after  the  treatment  that  had  been  inflicted 
upon  them,  foamed  with  fury  and  swore  that  sooner 
or  later  he  would  get  even  with  Vingerhout  and  his 
insolent  Nations.  But  since,  as  time  went  on,  his  grain 
threatened  to  rot  in  the  bottom  of  the  hold,  he  gave  in 
to  claims  of  the  dockers. 

A  little  later  on,  an  occasion  presented  itself  to 


154  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

reopen  hostilities  against  these  much  too  rebellious 
plebes.  There  had  just  been  invented  in  the  United 
States  elevators,  apparatus  which  replaced  cranes, 
lighters  and  computers,  the  adoption  of  which  for  the 
unloading  of  grain  would  fatally  destroy  a  great  part 
of  the  hand-labor,  and  in  consequence  would  entail  ruin 
for  many  members  of  the  Nations. 

So  that  there  was  great  agitation  among  the  people 
when  it  was  learned  that  Bejard  had  recommended,  in 
the  councils  of  the  ^'Regency,"  the  acquisition  of  sim- 
ilar apparatus. 

On  the  evening  upon  which  Bejard's  proposition  was 
to  be  put  to  a  vote  in  the  meeting  of  the  municipal 
council,  the  haes,  deans  and  workers  massed  themselves 
in  a  compact  and  formidable  array  in  the  Grand'  Place, 
in  front  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  In  their  working  clothes, 
their  sleeves  rolled  up,  their  biceps  bare,  they  waited 
there  terribly  resolute,  their  fists  upon  their  hips,  their 
noses  in  the  air,  their  eyes  fastened  upon  the  lighted 
windows.  With  a  jeering  air,  his  pipe  between  his 
teeth,  as  radiant  as  though  he  were  on  his  way  to  a 
dance,  Jean  Vingerhout  circulated  from  group  to  group 
giving  his  instructions  to  the  men.  Although  he  need- 
ed no  secretary  for  this  night's  work,  he  had  with  him 
young  Paridael,  who  was  enchanted  by  the  little  ex- 
plosion that  threatened  the  odious  Bejard. 

"We  shall  all  laugh,  my  boy,"  said  Jean,  rubbing 
his  hands  so  briskly  that  it  seemed  as  if  he  would 
break  the  bones  of  his  fingers. 

Siska  had  kept  her  husband  at  home,  not,  however, 
without  difficulty. 

Several  suspicious  looking  loungers,  of  the  type  of 
the  young  runners  of  Doel,  had  also  approached  the 
husky  workers,  but  Jean  did  not  intend  to  entangle 


THE  ELECTION  155 

himself  with  compromising  allies.  He  rejected  all  of 
them  without  snubbing  them  too  greatly.  Good  folk 
would  suffice  for  the  business  in  hand. 

Policemen  had  tried  to  disperse  the  assembled  crowd, 
but  they  did  not  insist  in  the  face  of  the  dignified  man- 
ner, portentous  in  its  calm,  with  which  they  were  wel- 
comed by  the  mutineers. 

A  rather  long  street,  the  Canal  au  Sucre,  separates 
the  Grand*  Place  from  the  Scheldt,  but  two  hundred 
meters  was  no  distance  for  these  fellows,  and  the 
policemen,  sly  but  puny,  would  not  be  heavy  to  carry  as 
far  as  the  water. 

"What  are  they  going  to  do  ?"  the  police  asked  them- 
selves. They  were  alarmed  by  the  inertia  and  the 
resolute  and  slightly  ironic  air  of  the  dockers.  The 
loafers  of  the  Coin  du  Paresseux  were  not  more  of- 
fensive while  waiting  for  the  baes  who  steeped  them 
in  drink.  To  those  who  questioned  them  the  workers 
responded  with  a  certain  vade  retro  as  brief  as  it  was 
energetic,  untranslatable  in  any  other  idiom  than  their 
terrible  Flemish,  and  to  which  their  manner  of  making 
it  ring  out  added  an  eloquent  savor. 

The  windows  of  the  left  wing  on  the  second  floor 
of  the  ancient  Hotel  de  Ville  were  illumined.  It  ap- 
peared that  they  were  still  deliberating.  The  vote  was 
imminent;  all  those  people  were  hand  in  glove  with 
each  other. 

Nine  o'clock  pealed  forth.  At  the  last  stroke,  at  a 
whistle  from  Vingerhout,  the  workers  leaned  over  and 
phlegmatically  set  about  pulling  up  the  paving  stones 
beneath  them.  They  went  about  their  work  rapidly,  so 
rapidly  that  the  alguazils  got  out  of  breath  uselessly 
in  trying  to  prevent  them. 

And  then  Jean  Vingerhout,  in  order  to  show  how 


156  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

they  were  going  to  set  to  work,  ardoitly  sent  a  paving 
stone  through  one  of  the  windows  of  the  council  cham- 
ber. Other  arms  rose,  each  hand  grasping  its  paving 
stone  with  the  steadiness  and  the  vigor  of  a  catapult. 
But  at  a  sign  from  Vingerhout  they  replaced  them  upon 
the  ground. 

"Very  gently.  Perhaps  one  warning  will  suffice 
them!" 

And  presently  an  usher  came  running  across  the 
square,  out  of  breath,  and,  spying  Vingerhout,  told 
him  that  the  gentlemen  of  the  Council  were  adjourn- 
ing their  decision. 

"What  are  they  waiting  for,  then?'*  asked  Vinger- 
hout, always  attracted  by  the  lighted  windows. 

Fundamentally,  this  terrible  Vingerhout  was  a 
shrewd,  but  a  good  fellow.  He  knew  the  layout  of  the 
Hotel  de  Ville,  and  knew,  too,  that  the  stone  which 
he  had  thrown  would  fall  in  an  empty  space  in  the 
room.     But  he  admitted  this  only  to  Laurent. 

The  windows  receded  into  the  darkness.  The  bur- 
gomaster, the  aldermen  and  councillors  came  out  of 
the  communal  palace  abashed,  surrounded  by  a  cloud 
of  policemen;  the  reserves  and  the  outposts  had 
been  placed  in  requisition,  and  the  commandants  of 
the  barracks  had  been  telegraphed.  Bejard  had  even 
wanted  to  ask  aid  from  Brussels.  But  the  Nations 
thought  that  they  had  achieved  a  sufficient  result  from 
their  little  manifestation,  and,  leaving  their  paving 
stones  behind  them,  they  dispersed  slowly,  like  the 
good  giants  that  they  were,  contenting  themselves  with 
sending  a  sagnificant  jeer  after  the  councillors,  espe- 
cially after  Bejard,  who  had  very  seriously  thought 
that  they  were  going  to  treat  him  like  Deacon  Steven. 

Intimidated,  the  Council  very  wisely  decided  to  bury 


THE  ELECTION  157 

the  much  too  burning  question  until  after  the  election 
for  the  legislative  chambers. 

The  haes  of  the  corporations  violently  exposed  the 
campaign  of  Bergmans,  who  had  frankly  sided  with 
the  dockers  and  was  running  for  candidacy  against 
Freddy  Bejard.  Laurent  had  entered  a  society  of 
fanatics  of  his  own  age,  the  Jenne  Garde  des  Gueux, 
recruited  from  among  the  apprentices  and  the  sons  of 
minor  employes. 

As  the  campaigning  period  advanced,  it  became 
more  and  more  fraught  with  bitterness.  The  pluto- 
crats, owners  of  newspapers,  devoted  themselves  to 
a  debauch  of  posters,  enormous,  multicolored,  eye- 
compelling,  of  brochures,  of  pamphlets,  all  printed  in 
large  type. 

Restlessness  increased  among  the  lower  classes. 

"What  matter?'*  stormed  Bejard.  "Those  outcasts 
^re  not  electors.     I  shall  be  elected  just  the  same." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  majority  of  "copyholders'* 
took  sides  with  the  rich.  But  the  latter,  fearing  that 
Bejard's  unpopularity  would  jeopardize  the  rest  of 
their  ballot,  tried  to  obtain  the  shipowner's  promise 
that  he  would  postpone  his  candidacy  until  a  more  fa- 
vorable time.  He  flatly  refused.  He  had  waited  too 
long;  the  seat  was  due  him  as  an  indemnification  for 
his  long  and  precious  service  to  the  oligarchy.  They 
did  not  insist.  Moreover,  he  held  them  in  the  palm 
of  his  hand.  A  thousand  compromising  secrets,  a 
thousand  skeletons  subsisted  between  them  and  him. 
His  light-fingered  hands  held  the  reputation  and  for- 
tune of  his  colleagues.  And  this  diabolic  man  possessed 
the  genius  for  organization  to  such  an  extent  that  he 
was  indispensible.  He  alone  knew  how  to  conduct  an 
electoral  campaign  and  to  manoeuvre  the  cohorts  of 


1 58  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

shopkeepers  by  tickling  their  interests.  Without  his 
assistance  they  might  as  well  have  declared  themselves 
beaten  in  advance. 

Not  at  all  scrupulous  as  to  the  means  that  he  em- 
ployed, his  agents  multrplied  trips  to  saloons  and  visits 
from  house  to  house.  They  had  been  instructed  to  see 
the  thwarted  shopkeepers  and  to  promise  them  cap- 
ital or  customers.  To  the  more  stubborn  they  went 
as  far  as  to  give  half  of  a  banknote,  the  other  half 
to  be  delivered  to  them  on  the  night  of  the  count,  if 
the  director  of  the  Southern  Cross  won. 

Other  employes  in  his  imposing  campaign  organi- 
zation, as  complicated  and  as  numerous  as  a  ministry, 
prepared  marked  ballots  for  voters  of  whom  they  were 
suspicious;  still  others  were  busy  compiling  statistics 
of  his  chances,  in  dividing  the  voters  in  "good,"  *'bad" 
and  "doubtful"  classes.  The  forecasts  gave  at  least 
a  thousand  votes  in  majority  to  Bejard.  He  continued, 
however,  to  buy  as  many  as  he  could,  spending  the 
party's  money  freely,  drawing  even  upon  his  private 
resources.  He  would  have  ruined  himself  in  order  to 
win. 

His  assistants  worked  upon  the  imagination  of  the 
peasants  of  the  district,  orthodox  people  like  the  no- 
bility, and  superstitious  besides.  Ignorant  of  history, 
these  rural  folk  took  the  name  of  gueux  in  its  literal 
sense.  The  least  landholder,  having  been  confirmed 
in  his  terrors  by  the  talks  of  old  folk  on  winter  eve- 
nings, saw  his  holdings  already  pillaged,  given  over  to  | 
the  torch,  and  himself  trampled  down  as  by  the  Cos- 
sacks, and  by  anticipation,  the  soles  of  his  feet  began 
to  burn.  He  would  not  vote  for  foot-broilers  and 
incendiaries.  In  the  villages  Bejard's  heelers  gossiped 
quite  naturally  about  Bergmans  and  his  people,  venting 


THE  ELECTION  159 

the  most  monstrous  and  extravagant  calumnies,  diffi- 
cult to  make  city- folk  believe,  but  which  passed  for 
truth  among  the  rustics  as  if  they  had  been  articles 
of  the  evangel. 

Door  den  Berg  could  oppose  these  underhand  plots 
only  with  his  character,  his  talent,  his  personal  worth, 
his  warm  conviction  and  eloquence,  his  frank  expres- 
sion; in  the  battle  of  newspapers,  posters  and  bro- 
chures, he  got  the  worst  of  it;  on  the  other  hand,  in 
public  meetings,  wherever  the  merits  of  the  candidates 
were  threshed  out,  he  had  the  advantage.  Moreover, 
one  had  to  be  infeudated  into  the  clan  of  Bejard  to 
take  his,  or  rather  Dupoissy's,  prose  and  eloquence 
seriously,  for  it  was  Dupoissy  who  manufactured  his 
speeches  and  articles. 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  disgusting  than  his 
humanitarian  and  long-winded  confections ;  collections 
of  commonplaces  worthy  of  the  worst  departmental  ga- 
zette, filled  with  cliches,  hollow  aphorisms,  flat  and 
redundant  phrases,  rhetoric  so  vile  and  so  ranting  that 
the  very  words  seemed  to  refuse  to  cover  his  lies  and 
obscenity  any  longer. 

The  night  before  the  eve  of  election  a  monster  meet- 
ing was  held  at  the  Varietes,  an  immense  dance  hall, 
in  which  political  mass-meetings  alternated  with 
shrove-tide  masquerades. 

For  the  first  time  during  the  many  years  that  he  had 
been  regaling  the  gulls  and  his  creatures  with  doctrin- 
aire harangues,  always  delivered  in  the  same  nasal, 
monotonous  voice,  Bejard  was  sharply  hissed.  He 
was  not  even  allowed  to  finish  his  speech. 

The  heaving  crowd,  electrified  by  a  hearty  phillipic 
from  Bergmans,  rushed  like  a  furious  tide  to  attack 
the  speaker's  table  on  the  platform,  passed  over  the 


i6o  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

orchestra  pit,  overturned  the  table,  trampled  and  tore 
the  green  carpet  to  tatters,  inundated  the  parquet  with 
water  from  the  carafes  intended  for  the  speakers, 
kicked  about  the  jangling  bell  of  the  chairman,  and 
barely  refrained  from  hacking  the  organizers  of  the 
meeting  to  pieces. 

Happily,  as  they  saw  the  cyclone  coming  on,  these 
prudent  folk  beat  a  retreat,  candidates  and  bosses  to- 
gether, and  left  the  place  to  the  people. 

Election  day  finally  dawned;  a  grey  October  day. 
From  early  morning  the  drums  of  the  civic  guard  beat 
out  the  call  for  voters;  the  city  bustled  with  an  un- 
usual life  that  was  not  its  every-day  activity,  the  busi- 
ness of  clerks  and  tradespeople,  cartage  and  traffic. 
The  voters,  in  holiday  attire,  left  their  houses,  and  un- 
der their  stovepipe  hats  wore  a  grave  and  slightly 
strained  expression,  citizens  conscious  of  their  dignity. 
With  their  voting  papers  in  their  hands  they  walked 
quickly  to  the  election  booths,  school  buildings,  foyers 
of  theatres  and  other  public  buildings. 

Young  bloods,  rich  men*s  sons,  wearing  an  orange 
cockade,  the  party  color,  at  their  buttonhole,  hired 
hacks  to  bring  feeble,  sickly,  or  indifferent  voters  to 
the  polls.  They  gave  themselves  airs  of  importance, 
consulted  their  lists,  greeted  each  other  mysteriously, 
gnawed  at  the  pencils  which  they  used  to  register  the 
voters.  Omnibuses  left  very  early  to  pick  up  the  rural 
voters  in  distant  little  straggling  villages.  Dumfound- 
ed  and  red  with  excitement,  the  peasants  grouped  them- 
selves according  to  their  parishes,  and  the  black-coat- 
ed priests  went  about  among  these  blue-clad  folk  giving 
advice  and  counting  the  votes.  Groups  formed  in 
front  of  the  polls.  They  were  reading  posters  still 
wet  from  the  press,  in  which  one  or  the  other  candi- 


THE  ELECTION  i6i 

date  denounced  a  last-minute  manoeuvre  of  his  adver- 
sary, and  uttered  a  final,  laconic  and  vigorous  procla- 
mation. Nearly  all  these  manifestos  began  with  the 
phrase:  "Voters!  You  are  being  deceived!"  News- 
boys were  crying  the  latest  extras.  On  each  side  of 
the  poll  a  ne'er-do-well  was  standing,  wearing  a  sign- 
board inviting  people  to  vote  for  one  or  the  other 
ticket.  The  blue  cockades  in  one  group  exchanged  de- 
fiant glances  with  the  orange  rosettes  of  another ;  peo- 
ple who  were  ordinarily  quite  inoffensive  assumed  a 
belligerent  air,  and  hands  feverishly  tormented  the 
handles  of  canes.  They  talked  a  great  deal,  but  in 
low  voices,  like  conspirators. 

However,  each  booth  having  been  provided  with  a 
chairman  and  two  watchers,  the  voting  began.  An- 
swering to  the  roll-call  in  alphabetical  order,  the  voters 
brushed  a  passage  through  the  crowd,  passed  behind  a 
partition,  and  presented  themselves  before  the  three 
grave  men.  The  latter  sat  behind  a  table,  covered  with 
the  traditional  green  cloth  and  bearing  an  ugly  black, 
cubic  box,  pompously  called  the  urn.  The  voter 
pushed  his  ballot,  folded  four  times  and  stamped  with 
the  arms  of  the  city,  for  a  brief  second  beneath  the 
eyeglassed  and  suspicious  nose  of  the  chairman,  and 
then  let  it  fall  into  the  urn  as  if  it  were  a  poor-box, 
a  money-box,  or  a  letter-box.  There  were  some  upon 
whom  this  simple  action  made  a  profound  impression ; 
they  lost  their  wits,  dropped  their  canes,  became  con- 
fused in  their  bows,  and  persisted  in  trying  to  put 
their  ballot  into  the  watcher's  inkwell. 

On  the  partition,  on  the  side  of  the  waiting  room, 
were  displayed  the  lists  of  candidates;  nearsighted 
men  put  their  noses  right  up  to  it;  dirty  fingers  trav- 
elled alj  py?r  it  as  over  the  timetable  posted  up  in 


i62  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

railroad  stations.  The  classroom  reeked  with  the 
stench  of  dog's  ordure  and  the  butts  of  extinguished 
cigars,  and  there  Hngered  the  musty  smell  of  poor 
scholars  who  had  fed  upon  dehcatessen. 

There  were  many  absences.  The  "junior  guards" 
of  both  parties,  on  picket  duty  at  the  entrance,  iden- 
tified their  men,  and  kept  sending  carriages  to  get 
their  absentees,  in  anticipation  of  the  check-roll.  The 
litany  of  names,  the  long  procession  of  voters,  kept 
passing  in  ruefully.  From  time  to  time  incidents 
cropped  up  that  relieved  the  monotony.  A  voter 
omitted  from  the  list  or  challenged  became  angry; 
people  having  the  same  name  presented  themselves 
for  each  other ;  they  persisted  in  summoning  dead  men 
whom  they  absolutely  wished  to  see  vote,  or,  on  the 
other  hand,  they  tried  to  persuade  living  men  that  they 
were  no  longer  of  this  world. 

Upon  coming  out  from  the  booths  into  which  only 
one  rnan  went  at  a  time,  their  happy  and  relieved  ex- 
pression and  their  sprightly  air  would  have  lead  one  to 
suppose  they  had  isolated  themselves  for  other  motives. 

The  taking  of  the  vote,  checking  and  counter  check- 
ing, lasted  until  noon,  and  then  the  count  commenced. 
No  one  knew  anything  definite,  but  they  hazarded  a 
reckoning  of  results.    "Few  absences!" 

The  orange  cockades  commiserated  each  other  upon 
the  abundance  of  blouses,  gloved  hands  and  shovel 
hats ;  on  the  other  hand,  the  blues  were  worrying  over 
the  unusual  contingent  of  hoes  from  the  Nations,  of 
business  people,  and  of  patriotic  officers. 

Nobody  went  home ;  everybody  ate  badly  at  taverns 
crammed  with  patrons,  and  fever  and  anxiety  having 
dried  their  throats,  they  became  intoxicated  with  both. 
beer  and  words. 


THE  ELECTION  163 

People  began  to  mass  themselves,  their  noses  in  the 
air,  in  the  Grand'  Place,  in  front  of  the  "Association," 
Bejard's  club  and  that  of  other  wealthy  men,  where 
there  were  just  beginning  to  be  displayed,  in  the  eight 
windows  of  the  first  floor,  the  results  of  twenty-six 
polling  places;  and  also  down  at  the  waterfront,  in 
front  of  the  Croix  Blanche,  where  the  "Nationalists," 
Bergmans*  partisans,  were  gathered. 

A  fine  rain  drenched  the  onlookers,  but  curiosity 
made  stoics  of  them.  Hawkers  continued  to  bawl  the 
article  of  the  day,  blue  or  orange  cockades. 

There  was  a  threatening  storm  brewing  in  the  ex- 
cited and  taciturn  crowd,  swelled  now  by  many 
laborers,  minor  employees,  and  students  who  did  not 
appear  upon  the  rolls.  Enraged  because  they  had  not 
been  able  to  vote  for  Door  den  Berg,  they  nourished 
deep  in  their  hearts  a  violent  desire  to  manifest  their 
preference  in  another  manner. 

And,  at  present,  the  blue  cockades  dominated  in 
the  crowd.  The  laborers  pinned  them  upon  their 
woolen  vests.  Brawls  had  broken  out  in  the  morning 
outside  the  booths  where  the  country-folk  had  cast 
their  votes.  And,  intimidated  by  the  look  of  hate 
thrown  at  them  by  their  comrades  of  the  waterfront, 
the  peasants  hastened,  after  voting  in  accordance  with 
the  wishes  of  their  parish  priests,  to  climb  upon  the 
roofs  of  the  waiting  coaches,  and  put  miles  of  polders 
or  heather  between  themselves  and  the  ramparts  of 
the  metropolis. 

The  party  men  crowded  into  the  salons  of  the  "rvsso- 
ciation,"  where  the  party  bosses  and  candidates  sat 
waiting  the  results.  The  harsh,  metallic  voice  of  Be- 
jard  rose  above  the  whispers  of  the  talkers;  Dupois- 
sy,  congratulatory   and   inspired,    Saint-Fardier,   tur- 


i64  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

bulent  and  aggressive,  speaking  in  thunderclaps  of 
Bergmans  and  the  whole  of  the  dirty  common  people, 
Dobouziez,  sober  in  his  judgment,  aged,  worried 
looking,  little  interested  in  active  politics  and  grum- 
bling to  himself  at  the  costly  ambition  of  his  son-in- 
law  ;  finally,  the  young  Saint-Fardiers,  gaping  till  their 
jaws  almost  broke,  tapping  upon  the  window-panes, 
watching  the  crowd  gather  in  the  square. 

At  the  Croix  Blanche,  Door  did  not  have  hands 
enough  to  grip  the  hands  of  every  one  who  insisted 
upon  shaking  his.  The  affection,  the  exuberance  and 
the  sincerity  of  these  well-worn  and  upright  natures 
touched  him  keenly. 

Laurent,  the  Tilbaks,  Jean  Vingerhout,  Marbol  and 
Vyveloy  could  not  stay  still,  but  went  out,  looked  at 
the  returns,  ran  to  the  central  poll  where  the  general 
count  was  being  taken. 

The  first  favorable  results  for  Bejard  and  for  Berg- 
mans were  greeted  by  hisses  from  the  Association, 
by  cheers  from  the  Croix  Blanche,  or  vice-versa.  But 
the  manifestations  of  the  assembled  plutocracy  awoke 
a  contradictory  echo  each  time  from  the  crowds  in  the 
square.  Thus,  when  the  figures  of  the  majority  attrib- 
uted to  Bejard  appeared  upon  the  sign  at  the  windows 
of  the  Association,  there  was  a  little  timid  applause, 
promptly  smothered  beneath  a  chorus  of  groans  and 
whistles ;  the  opposite  occurred  whenever  luck  favored 
''Our  Door." 

Several  times  the  votes  balanced  each  other.  The 
majority  of  the  voters  in  the  city  declared  for  Berg- 
mans. Already  the  crowd  in  the  street  and  at  the 
Croix  Blanche  trembled  with  happiness;  every  one 
began  hugging  every  one  else,  and  congratulating 
Bergmans.     Paridael  even  wanted  them  to  fly  the 


THE  ELECTION  165 

flag  of  the  Gueux,  orange,  white  and  blue,  with  the 
two  hands  fraternally  entwined,  the  two  hands  drawn 
and  quartered  upon  the  shield  of  Antwerp.  Berg- 
mans, less  optimistic,  had  difficulty  in  preventing  his 
friends  from  triumphing  too  early.  Our  enthusiasts 
did  not  reckon  upon  the  country.  Not  only  did  the 
rural  poll  overwhelm  the  swerving  results,  but  the 
total  of  the  peasant  vote  grew  greater,  always  dis- 
tending, swallowing  up,  like  a  stupid  tide,  and  sub- 
merging under  its  waves  the  legitimate  hopes  of,  the 
majority  of  urban  citizens. 


VI 

TROUBLES 

First  consternation,  and  then  rage,  took  possession 
of  the  people  of  Antwerp  at  the  final  outcome  of  the 
struggle.  The  plutocracy  had  carried  it  off,  but  only 
with  the  co-operation  of  corruption  and  stupidity.  The 
peasantry  had  opposed  their  veto  to  the  will  of  the 
great  city.  The  victors,  who  could  not  conceal  from 
themselves  the  equivocal  alloy  of  their  triumph,  com- 
mitted the  error  of  wishing  to  celebrate  it,  and, 
although  inwardly  somewhat  crestfallen,  they  faced 
it  out,  feigned  jubilation,  and  resolved  the  crowd,  by 
their  bravado  and  their  grimacing  challenges,  upon  the 
explosion  of  hostile  sentiments  that  it  had  been  con- 
taining with  great  difficulty  since  the  morning.  They 
did  not,  however,  risk  showing  themselves  upon  the 
balcony  of  their  club,  whither  they  were  ironically 
called  by  the  mob,  a  sea  of  convulsive  heads,  pale  and 
wan  with  fury,  red  and  inflamed,  grinning  sardon- 
ically, tight-lipped,  beating  back  their  tears  of  rage. 

Five  o'clock.  Night  had  fallen.  The  wealthy  folk 
had  returned  to  their  houses  in  the  new  part  of  the 
city,  sliding  timidly  through  the  crowd  that  was  still 
keeping  watch  in  the  square. 

They  all  stayed  there,  uneasy,  not  knowing  what 

i66 


TROUBLES  167 

to  make  up  their  minds  to  do,  their  fists  clenched,  cer- 
tain that  "it  was  not  going  to  go  on  this  way,"  but  not 
knowing  how  "it  was  going  on." 

In  anticipation  of  trouble,  the  burgomaster  had 
called  out  the  civic  guard,  posts  had  been  doubled ;  the 
gendarmerie  was  under  arms. 

Bergmans,  while  crossing  the  square,  had  been  rec- 
ognized, cheered,  and  borne  off  in  triumph.  He  freed 
himself  as  best  he  could  from  these  ovations;  since 
early  in  the  morning  he  had  exhorted  all  those  who 
came  in  contact  with  him  to  calm  and  resignation. 
"We  shall  be  victorious  next  time !"  he  said. 

The  orange  flag  floating  from  the  balcony  of  the 
Association  bearded  and  exasperated  his  friends.  In 
the  first  moments  after  the  news  of  defeat  the  con- 
sternation of  the  vanquished  had  given  the  victors  an 
opportunity  to  hoist  their  flag  with  impunity. 

Suddenly  a  pushing  this  way  and  that  began  in  the 
crowd.  Paridael  and  his  young  comrades  of  the 
"Jeune  Garde  des  Gueux"  jostled  their  way  through 
until  they  reached  the  club. 

Carried  upon  the  shoulders  of  Jean  Vingerhout, 
Laurent,  as  nimble  as  a  monkey,  using  both  hands  and 
feet,  clinging  to  whatever  slight  ledges  he  could, 
climbed  to  the  balcony,  clutched  the  flagstaff,  tried  to 
loosen  it,  and  ending  by  hanging  from  it,  pulling  on 
the  material.  A  cracking  was  heard;  the  wood 
snapped.  .  .  . 

The  crowd  yelled  with  anxiety. 

The  flag  was  conquered,  but  the  daring  conqueror 
tumbled  into  empty  space  with  his  trophy.  He  would 
have  broken  his  neck  upon  the  pavement  had  the  vig- 
ilant and  solidly  built  Vingerhout  not  been  there.  Vin- 
gerhout caught  Laurent  in  his  arms  without  flinching 


i68  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

as  if  he  were  catching  a  bale  of  rice  or  a  sack  of 
cereal  in  full  flight.  Then  he  put  Laurent  quietly  upon 
his  feet  with  an  oath  of  approval.  The  young  fellow, 
feeling  the  earth  once  more  beneath  his  feet,  began  to 
wave  his  flag  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd.  A  burst 
of  stormy  cheers  broke  out  and  continued.  The  police 
tried  to  take  Laurent  by  the  collar.  Hundreds  of 
hands,  following  Vingerhout's  fist,  freed  him,  threw 
the  policemen  into  disorder,  and  reduced  them  to  im- 
potence. 

The  young  fellows  took  the  head  of  a  huge  column 
that  began  moving  after  having  sent  three  volleys  of 
cat-calls  toward  the  dismantled  balcony,  singing  the 
"Hymne  des  Gueux"  composed  by  Vyveloy,  and  a 
Flemish  refrain  improvised  in  honor  of  their  leader. 

From  a  distance  came  the  song  of  the  other  party. 
Where  could  such  a  challenge  come  from  ?  An  electric 
tremor  ran  through  the  whole  line. 

"Down  with  them !"  And  the  crowd  rushed  wildly 
across  the  Place  de  Meir. 

At  the  corner  of  this  square,  where  it  becomes  nar- 
rowest, the  Gueux  fell  upon  a  crew  of  young  revellers 
with  blue  cockades,  with  a  band  and  torches.  With  a 
frightful  clamor  they  threw  themselves  upon  their 
provokers.  In  an  instant  the  torches  had  been  torn 
from  their  hands,  a  hole  had  been  kicked  in  the  drum, 
the  whole  crew  had  been  thoroughly  trounced  and 
trampled  upon  without  having  made  the  slightest  re- 
sistance. 

And  by  the  time  that  the  middle  and  the  tail 
of  the  line  had  come  up  to  the  place  where  the 
scuffle  had  taken  place,  the  fugitives  were  already  far 
away. 

The  Gueux,  however,  had  heard  that  the  rich  people, 


TROUBLES  169 

thinking  themselves  sheltered  from  the  wrath  of  the 
mob,  on  the  Boulevard  Leopold,  in  the  new  part  of 
the  city,  had  illuminated  their  houses  and  decorated 
them  with  flags. 

"To  Bejard's!"  howled  the  mob. 

From  the  Place  de  Meir  onward  the  demonstration 
took  on  a  sinister  aspect.  The  ranks  of  workmen, 
dockers  and  bourgeois  disappeared  to  make  way  for 
a  crowd  of  shameless  fellows.  They  were  no  longer 
singing  the  "Hymne  des  Gueux,"  but  were  shouting 
incendiary  refrains. 

On  the  road,  in  the  Avenue  des  Arts,  a  runner  threw 
a  paving  stone  through  the  door  of  the  Saint-Fardier 
residence,  the  windows  of  which  were  decorated  with 
lanterns.  The  panes  of  glass  smashed  to  pieces.  The 
wind,  rustling  a  silk  curtain,  blew  it  close  to  the  flame 
of  a  lantern ;  the  goods  took  fire.  The  ferocious  mob 
shivered  and  cheered  the  flames,  an  unexpected  accom- 
plice. 

"That's  it !    Let's  burn  the  whole  caboose !" 

But  a  half -company  of  gendarmes,  the  police,  and 
a  company  of  the  civic  guard  prevented  them  from 
carrying  this  pleasantry  any  further. 

While  one  part  of  the  procession  remained  behind 
to  annoy  the  gendarmes,  the  others  made  good  their 
escape  by  passing  through  the  side  streets  and  coming 
out  upon  the  Boulevard  Leopold  almost  opposite 
Bejard's  residence. 

"Down  with  Bejard !  .  .  .  Down  with  the  vendor 
of  souls!  .  .  .  Down  with  the  slave-trader!  .  .  . 
Down  with  the  torturer  of  children !  .  .  .  " 

An  outburst  of  bloodthirsty  cries  greeted  the  home 
of  the  oligarch.  Whether  or  not  he  knew  what  was 
in  the  air,  Bejard,  the  foreigner,  the  elect  of  the  peas- 


xyo  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

antry,  had  abstained  from  illuminating  his  mansion. 
The  shutters  on  the  ground  floor  were  closed,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  there  were  no  light  within. 

But  this  discretion  did  not  disarm  the  mob.  They 
hurled  themselves  furiously  upon  the  accursed  house. 
Prowlers  and  vagrants,  of  which  the  greater  part  of 
the  procession  now  consisted,  especially  excel  in  demo- 
lition. The  barred  shutters  were  torn  from  the  win- 
dows, and  the  windows  themselves  shattered  to 
splinters. 

"To  the  death !  To  the  death !"  shrieked  the  rioters. 

Confiding  the  flag  to  his  faithful  Vingerhout,  Par- 
idael  came  between  them,  and  tried  to  prevent  them 
from  breaking  into  the  house,  for  suddenly  all  his 
thoughts  had  returned  to  the  wife  of  the  unpopular 
ship-owner,  his  Cousin  Gina.  Let  them  tear  Bejard 
to  pieces  or  hang  him !  Laurent  would  not  have  cared 
at  all.  Let  them  not  leave  one  stone  of  the  house 
upon  another!  Laurent  would  have  willingly  helped 
the  destroyers.  But  he  would  give  his  last  drop  of 
blood  to  spare  Madame  Bejard  one  fright  or  emotion ! 

Ah!  luckless  fellow,  why  had  he  had  not  foreseen 
this  danger  sooner? 

He  called  Vingerhout  to  his  aid.  But  they  were 
swept  aside.  It  was  impossible  to  dam  the  furious 
mass.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  follow  them, 
or,  better,  precede  them  into  the  house  and  bring  help 
to  the  young  woman.  Laurent  jumped  through  a  win- 
dow into  the  salon.  Already  a  swarm  of  infuriated 
men  were  struggling  in  there  like  epileptics ;  shattering 
the  furniture  and  bibelots,  tearing  down  curtains,  cut- 
ting holes  into  cushions,  pulling  pictures  from  the  wall, 
reducing  tapestries  and  hangings  to  lint,  throwing  the 


TROUBLES  171 

debris  out  of  the  windows,  pillaging  and  degrading 
everything  that  came  to  hand. 

Laurent  outran  them  into  the  neighboring  room ;  it 
was  dark  and  deserted.  He  penetrated  into  a  third 
salon;  nobody  there;  into  the  dining  room.  Again 
nobody;  he  ransacked  the  orangery  and  the  conserva- 
tory without  meeting  a  living  soul. 

Others,  however,  followed  him.  Weary  of  breaking 
everything,  they  wanted  to  do  their  business  with 
Bejard.  Laurent  rushed  out  into  the  vestibule,  saw 
the  staircase,  and  mounted  it  four  steps  at  a  time. 

He  reached  the  first  floor  landing,  penetrated  into 
the  bedrooms,  a  dressing  room,  and  another  room. 
Nobody.  He  called,  "Gina!  Gina!"  Not  even  the 
ghost  of  Gina!  He  continued  his  search,  rummaging 
all  the  corners,  opening  closets  and  wardrobes,  looking 
under  the  beds.  And  still  nothing!  She  was  not  on 
the  upper  floors,  or  in  the  garret.  Coming  downstairs 
in  despair  he  ran  into  the  ringleaders,  who  were  still 
howling  for  Bejard.  For  a  very  little  they  would  have 
accused  Paridael  of  having  let  his  enemy  escape.  Hap- 
pily, Vingerhout  came  along  just  in  time  to  take  him 
out  of  their  hands. 

Outside  the  tumult  was  augmenting.  Laurent 
•walked  out  into  the  garden  and  visited  the  stables  with 
no  greater  success. 

Finally  he  resolved  to  quit  the  deserted  house.  In 
the  street,  where  hundreds  of  spectators  among  the 
rioters  watched  the  sacking  of  this  luxurious  home  with 
sanctimonious  curiosity,  he  learned  from  the  servants 
that  the  master  and  mistress  were  dining  with  Madame 
Athanasius  Saint-Fardier.  Reassured,  he  was  about 
to  leave  the  theatre  of  the  saturnalia  when  he  heard 
a  furious  galloping  resounding  in  the  distance. 


172  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

"The  civic  guard  on  horseback!  Every  one  for 
himself!" 

Pillagers  and  destroyers  interrupted  their  business. 

The  platoon  approached  at  a  gallop.  At  a  hundred 
meters  distance  from  the  rabble  the  captain,  Van  Frans 
the  banker,  an  old  friend  of  the  Dobouziez  family, 
ordered  a  halt. 

All  rich  men  and  the  sons  of  rich  men,  parade  sol- 
diers only,  they  were  proud  of  their  handsome  dark 
green  uniform,  of  their  silver-buttoned  tunics  and  black 
brandenburgs,  of  their  trousers  with  the  amaranthine 
stripe,  of  their  astrachan  knapsacks  with  the  red  shoul- 
der-straps and  silver  tassels.  Their  mounts  had  sha- 
bracks matching  the  uniform,  on  the  corners  of  which 
were  embroidered  silver  bugles,  and  an  ordonnance 
cloak  was  rolled  up  on  the  front  of  the  saddles. 

Pale,  excited,  their  eyes  glistening,  they  made  their 
horses  wheel  and  paw  the  ground.  Seeing  that  they 
had  stopped,  the  rioters  were  emboldened  to  mock 
them.  "Cardboard  soldiers!  Buffoons!  Sunday 
cavaliers!"  Laurent  recognized  Athanasius  and  Gas- 
ton Saint-Fardier,  and  heard  the  former,  who  was 
pushing  his  horse  forward,  say  to  Van  Frans:  "Are 
we  never  going  to  charge  that  rabble,  Captain?"  In 
passing  through  the  Avenue  des  Arts  the  two  brothers 
had  seen  the  havoc  wrought  upon  their  father's  house, 
and  burned  with  impatience  to  avenge  the  affront. 

Until  now  the  service  of  this  honorary  squadron  had 
been  a  recreation,  a  simple  sport,  a  pretext  for  walks 
and  excursions  and  parties  in  the  country.  It  was  not 
the  fault  of  the  handsome  dilettante  in  uniform  that 
these  loafers  forced  them  to  take  themselves  seriously. 

"Draw  .  .  .  sabres!"  commanded  Van  Frans  in  a 
slightly  trembling  voice.  And  the  virgin  swords,  drawn 


TROUBLES  173 

from  their  sheaths  with  a  metallic  clinking,  added  a 
livid  flame  to  the  gloved  hand  of  every  cavalier. 

This  v^as  enough  to  throw  the  looters  into  a  panic. 
The  crowd  broke  in  front,  and  flung  themselves  into 
the  side  streets  to  the  left  and  right.  The  more  daring 
hurried  to  get  out  of  the  way  on  the  opposite  pave- 
ment or  beneath  the  trees  in  the  center  of  the  avenue. 

"Charge!"  ordered  Van  Frans,  sharply.  "For- 
ward!" 

And  the  squadron  dashed  forward  at  a  breakneck 
gallop.  Stirrups  and  scabbards  clanked  each  other, 
the  pavement  sparkled  like  an  anvil. 

After  having  put  the  mob  to  flight  and  pretended 
to  chase  them,  the  soldiers  halted,  wheeled,  and  charged 
a  second  time,  in  the  opposite  direction. 

The  police  succeeded  in  dispersing  the  last  rioters, 
and  by  now,  being  in  the  majority,  began  to  capture 
the  ringleaders  and  put  them  under  arrest. 

Pursued  from  that  side,  the  most  infurated  mem- 
bers of  the  mob  resigned  themselves  to  making  a  dem- 
onstration elsewhere. 

Turning  the  comer  of  a  street,  Laurent  found  him- 
self face  to  face  with  Regina.  The  news  of  the  riot 
had  surprised  the  Bejards  at  the  dinner  table,  and 
while  her  husband  had  gone  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville  to 
confer  with  his  friends,  Gina,  in  spite  of  all  efforts 
to  detain  her,  had  walked  out  alone,  curious  to  see 
for  herself  her  husband's  unpopularity. 

Laurent  took  her  by  the  arm. 

"Come  with  me,  Regina.  You  can't  go  home.  Your 
house  is  a  ruin,  and  even  the  street  is  dangerous  for 
you.    It  would  be  better  for  you  to  go  to  your  father's," 

She  saw  that  he  was  wearing  the  colors  of  Berg- 
mans' party  upon  his  cap. 


174  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

"You  are  making  common  cause  with  them;  you 
were  among  those  who  made  that  little  expedition  to 
my  house.  .  .  .  Really,  Laurent,  that's  the  last  straw ! 
What  a  dirty  deed !" 

"This  is  not  the  time  to  recriminate  and  say  unpleas- 
ant things  to  me!"  said  Paridael  with  an  assurance 
that  he  had  never  before  felt  in  talking  to  her.  "Come 
with  me  V* 

Frightened  and  overmastered  by  his  air  of  resolu- 
tion, she  allowed  herself  to  be  led,  and  even  took  his 
arm.  He  lifted  her  into  the  first  carriage  that 
they  met,  cast  the  Dobouziez  address  to  the  cabby, 
and  sat  down  opposite  her  before  she  had  risked  a 
remark. 

"Excuse  me,"  he  said,  "I  shall  not  leave  you  until 
I  know  that  you  are  in  a  safe  place." 

She  did  not  answer.  Neither  of  them  opened  their 
lips  again. 

Laurent's  knees  brushed  those  of  the  young  woman ; 
their  feet  met,  and  she  withdrew  hers  with  a  terrified 
start,  drawing  back  into  a  corner  of  the  carriage,  or 
pretending  to  look  out  of  the  window.  Laurent  held 
his  breath  in  order  the  better  to  hear  hers;  he  could 
have  wished  that  the  trip  would  last  forever.  Both 
were  thinking  of  the  last  time  they  had  met.  She 
began  to  be  afraid ;  he  felt  himself  again  becoming  the 
lover  of  former  days. 

They  passed  drunken  runners  brandishing  cudgels 
at  the  end  of  which  were  attached  shreds  of  material 
torn  from  the  furniture  and  hangings  of  the  mansions 
that  had  been  sacked.  As  they  passed  each  street  lamp 
Laurent  caught  a  fleeting  vision  of  the  young  woman. 
The  alarm  that  he  was  causing  his  cousin  sorely  vexed 
him.    Forever,  then,  he  was  to  be  an  object  of  aversion 


TROUBLES  175 

and  scorn !  When  they  reached  the  factory  he  got  out 
first  and  offered  her  his  hand.  She  stepped  out  with- 
out taking  his  proffered  assistance,  and  said,  for  the 
sake  of  politeness: 

"Won't  you  come  in?" 

"You  know  that  your  father  has  sworn  never  to 
receive  me.  ..." 

"True.  I  almost  forgot  that.  .  .  .  However,  I 
owe  you  my  thanks,  don't  I?  .  .  .  Monsieur  Bejard 
has  some  chivalrous  enemies.  .  .  ." 

"I  beg  you,  cousin,  don't  scoff  at  me !  If  you  only 
knew  how  unjust  your  sarcasms  are !  Instead,  believe 
in  my  unalterable  devotion  and  my  profound  .  .  .  ad- 
miration for  you." 

"You  talk  like  the  end  of  a  letter,"  she  answered 
with  a  faint  air  of  having  taken  up  her  old  bantering 
manner.  But  it  lacked  sincerity  and  good  humor. 
"Very  well  .  .  .  again,  thank  you.  .  .  ."  And  she 
vanished  into  the  house. 


VII 

SON-IN-LAW  AND  FATHER-IN-LAW 

Freddy  Bejard,  the  newly  elected  deputy,  gave 
his  political  friends  the  great  dinner  postponed  by  the 
sacking  of  his  house  and  the  effervescence  of  the 
masses. 

The  disturbance  had  not  lasted.  The  next  day 
the  peaceful  bourgeois,  whom  the  tumult  had  kept 
awake  and  shaking  with  fear  in  their  beds,  began 
to  make  the  principal  mansions  ravaged  by  the  popu- 
lace the  object  of  their  promenades.  And  since  the 
rich  did  not  hesitate  to  impute  these  acts  of  vandalism 
to  Bergmans,  notwithstanding  his  protestations  and 
energetic  disavowals,  Freddy  Bejard  benefited  by 
the  indignation  of  sober-minded  and  scrupulous 
citizens. 

The  newspapers,  having  been  importuned  by  Du- 
poissey  for  weeks,  published  editorials  dealing  with 
"law  and  order,"  "the  hydra  of  civil  war"  and  "the 
specter  of  anarchy,"  with  the  result  that  many  good 
people  of  Antwerp,  detesting  Bejard  and  foreigners  in 
general,  and  inclining  toward  Bergmans,  feared  that 
by  continuing  to  support  him  they  were  encouraging 
fresh  disorder. 

As  it  was  incumbent  upon  the  city  to  indemnify 
the    victims   of    the    mob,    Bejard    lost    nothing,    in 

176 


SON-IN-LAW  AND  FATHER-IN-LAW    177 

a  financial  way,  and  made  a  profit  by  overestimating 
the  value  of  the  havoc. 

So  that  it  was  in  a  repainted  and  refurnished  man- 
sion, costlier  than  ever,  showing  no  traces  of  the  run- 
ners' visit,  that  monsieur  de  depute  feasted  his  trusty 
friends ;  his  colleagues  of  the  Antwerp  "bench"  in  par- 
liament, his  equals  the  rich;  Dobouziez,  Vanderling, 
Saint-Fardier  senior  and  the  two  young  Saint-Fardier 
couples.  Van  Frans  and  the  other  Vans,  the  Peeters, 
the  Willems,  the  Janssens,  not  omitting  the  indispens- 
able Dupoissy. 

The  beautiful  Madame  Bejard  presided  at  the  din- 
ner. She  was  more  beautiful  than  ever.  She  was 
loaded  with  compliments  and  congratulations,  and  Du- 
poissy could  not  lift  his  glass  without  looking  gallantly 
at  Madame  la  representante. 

In  truth,  however,  Madame  Bejard  was  profoundly 
unhappy. 

Her  husband,  whom  she  had  never  loved,  she  now 
detested  and  scorned.  For  a  long  time  past  their  house- 
hold had  been  a  living  hell;  but  her  pride  made  her 
suffer  tortures,  and  she  succeeded  in  acting  so  cleverly 
before  the  world  that  she  fooled  all  the  gossips. 

She  knew  that  her  husband  was  maintaining  an  Eng- 
lish ballet  girl,  a  great,  common,  vulgar  woman  who 
swore  like  a  trooper,  smoked  cigarettes  until  they 
burned  her  fingers,  and  drank  gin  by  the  bottle. 

Virtuous  and  upright,  proud,  but  possessing  a  char- 
acter to  which  any  slovenly  actions  were  repugnant* 
Gina  had  been  forced  to  put  up  with  her  husband's 
cynical  confidences.  The  infamy  of  the  private  and 
public  life  of  the  people  of  her  world  had  been  re- 
vealed to  her  by  this  aspirant.  And,  suddenly,  she  had 
seen  clearly  through  this  society,  so  brilliant  from  the 


178  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

outside ;  she  understood  Bergmans'  intransigeance,  she 
loved  him  for  it  so  deeply  that  she,  the  proud  Gina, 
espoused  the  cause  of  this  revolutionary,  or,  as  her 
husband  termed  him,  this  king  of  the  wastrels,  in  the 
very  depth  of  her  heart. 

And  during  the  trouble,  when  she  had  met  Laurent 
Paridael,  she  had  been  aloof  and  bantering  because  it 
was  habitual,  because  of  a  certain  reserve,  because  of 
a  last  false  shame  that  prevented  her  from  letting  him 
know  that  she  had  been  converted  to  the  benevolent 
sentiments  which  she  had  so  despised  and  carped  at  in 
him. 

In  reality,  at  the  time  of  the  election  she  had  prayed 
ardently  for  Bergmans'  success  and  cursed  her  hus- 
band's good  fortune.  So  much  so  that  the  looting  of 
their  house  on  that  evening  of  popular  fury  had  cor- 
responded with  her  mood  of  weariness,  vexation  and 
failure.  But  as  she  was  never  to  be  Bergmans'  wife 
she  would  keep  such  feelings  sealed  in  the  bottom 
of  her  heart.  She  was  living  only  for  her  son,  a  baby 
a  year  old,  who  was  the  image  of  her,  and  for  her 
father,  the  only  rich  person  she  still  loved  and  believed 
in.  Those  little  sirens,  Angele  and  Cora,  continued  to 
waste  effort  in  trying  to  inculcate  in  Gina  their  own 
special  philosophy:  to  take  life  as  though  it  was  a 
perpetual  pleasure  party,  never  to  conjure  up  dreams 
or  ideals,  to  attach  one's  self  but  moderately  so  that 
detachment  would  be  easy,  to  profit  by  youth  and  the 
smile  of  opportunity,  to  close  one's  eyes  to  all  sad- 
ness and  pain.  They  were  at  the  dinner,  alluring,  in 
evening  gowns,  their  bodies  prepossessing,  laughing 
and  rattling  like  plants  vivacious  in  the  conquering 
breath  of  summer;  bawling,  cackling,  irritating  their 
neighbors,  and  from  time  to  time  darting  a  conniving 


SON-IN-LAW  AND  FATHER-IN-LAW     179 

glance  to  one  side  of  the  table  or  the  others.  It  was 
very  naive  of  their  friend  Gina  to  harbor  blue  devils 
and  black  butterflies ! 

Madame  Bejard,  suffering  from  an  excruciating 
headache,  presided  with  irreproachable  tact  over  this 
dinner  that  seemed  never  to  come  to  an  end. 

What  would  she  have  not  given  to  retort  to  the 
calumny  which,  in  order  to  flatter  her  husband,  his 
friends,  led  by  Dupoissy,  were  sprinkling  upon  the 
reputation  of  Bergmans! 

" — Oh !  very  funny,  very  delicate !  Did  you  under- 
stand it?"' 

And  Dupoissy  hurried  to  repeat  the  little  scandal  in 
veiled  language.  If  Gina  were  not  enthusiastic  over 
It  she  must  at  least  approve  it  with  a  smile  or  a  nod. 

Bejard  was  trying  the  fit  of  his  new  role.  He  was 
talking  jargon  in  imitation  of  his  colleagues,  speaking 
at  length  of  reports,  investigations,  commissions, 
budgets. 

Dobouziez  spoke  even  less  than  usual.  The 
knowledge  of  his  daughter's  unhappiness  had  aged 
him.  It  was  useless  for  her  to  pretend  that  she  was 
happy  and  contented;  he  loved  her  too  deeply  not  to 
feel  intuitively  what  she  was  concealing.  A  year  ago 
he  had  become  a  widower;  his  hair  had  whitened,  his 
chest  did  not  swell  as  proudly  as  it  used  to,  his  shoul- 
ders bent  slightly.  One  would  have  thought,  to  see 
him,  that  some  of  his  problems  had  remained  unsolved, 
or  that  the  algebraist  had  found  their  solutions  incon- 
sistent. 

After  dessert,  the  hostess  was  asked  to  sing.  Re- 
gina  still  possessed  a  beautiful  voice,  supple  and  power- 
ful as  it  had  been  that  night  at  Hemixem,  but  made 
richer  by  the  expression,  the  melancholy  and  the  charm 


i8o  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

of  maturity  that  had  invested  her  formerly  too  serene 
face.  And  she  did  not  sing  the  bounding  wahz  from 
Romeo  tonight,  but  an  ample  and  passionate  melody 
of  Schubert,  the  Adieu, 

Sitting  alone  in  a  corner,  Dobouziez  was  hang- 
ing upon  the  sound  of  his  daughter's  voice,  when  he 
felt  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  He  jumped.  And  Be- 
jard  whispered : 

"Let's  go  into  my  study  for  a  moment,  father-in- 
law.    I  have  something  to  say  to  you.  .  .  ." 

The  manufacturer,  a  little  disappointed  at  being  thus 
torn  away  from  one  of  the  few  distractions  that  re- 
mained to  him,  followed  his  son-in-law,  filled  with  dis- 
may at  the  strange  intonation  in  his  voice. 

When  they  were  seated  opposite  each  other  in  front 
of  his  desk,  Bejard  opened  a  drawer,  rummaged 
through  a  set  of  pigeonholes,  and  handed  a  file  of  pa- 
pers to  Dobouziez. 

"Will  you  kindly  take  note  of  these  letters?" 

He  leaned  back  in  his  arm-chair,  his  fingers  drum- 
ming upon  the  leather  pads,  while  with  his  eyes  he 
followed  the  impression  made  by  the  letters  reflected 
in  Dobouziez's  face. 

The  manufacturer's  face  fell;  he  paled  and  his  lips 
moved  convulsively.     Suddenly,  he  broke  off  reading. 

"Will  you  please  tell  me  what  all  this  meai^s?"  he 
said,  looking  at  his  son-in-law  with  more  distress  than 
anger. 

"Simply  that  I  am  ruined,  that  in  a  month,  or  per- 
haps two  weeks,  I  shall  be  proclaimed  a  bankrupt.  .  .  . 
If  you  do  not  come  to  my  assistance  ..." 

"To  your  assistance!"  And  Dobouziez  flew  into 
a  passion.  "You  wretch!  Have  I  not  already 
plunged  myself  in  difficulties  from  which  I  cannot  re- 


SON 'IN -LAW  AND  FATHER-IN-LAW     i8l 

trieve  myself  ?  And  at  this  very  minute,  isn't  the  dis- 
aster that  is  striking  you  carrying  me  down  with  you  ? 
You  must  be  mad,  or  very  brazen,  to  look  to  me  again  !'* 

"Nevertheless,  you  had  better  get  busy,  sir.  ...  Or 
perhaps  you  would  rather  be  known  as  the  father-in- 
law  of  an  insolvent  man?  But  you  haven't  finished 
reading  those  letters.  Please  continue.  You  will  see 
that  it  merits  at  least  some  reflection.  .  .  .  Admit  that 
it's  not  my  fault.  The  failure  of  Smithson  and  Co., 
of  New  York!  Such  a  well-estabHshed  bank!  Who 
could  have  foreseen  that  ?  And  those  copper  mines  at 
Sgreveness;  the  shares  have  dropped  to  twenty  below 
par !  But  it  was  not  I  who  persuaded  you  into  it !  Be 
fair,  and  remember  your  confidence  in  that  little  en- 
gineer, your  brother  genius,  who  offered  to  let  you  in 
on  the  business !  .  .  ." 

"Keep  quiet!"  interrupted  Dobouziez.  "For 
heaven's  sake,  stop!  What  about  those  wild  specula- 
tions in  coffee  that  swallowed  up  your  wife's  dowry 
in  less  than  four  days  ?  I  suppose  you  went  into  them 
on  my  advice,  too!  And  that  gamble  in  the  public 
funds,  in  which  you  made  use  of  Dupoissy!  Maybe 
you  think  that  the  fellows  on  the  Exchange  are  stupid 
enough  to  suppose  for  one  minute  that  the  hundred  or 
two  hundred  thousand  francs  above  the  market  paid 
by  that  lamb,  who  never  had  any  wool  of  his  own,  came 
out  of  his  own  pocket !  And  that  boot-licking  rascal  is 
very  quietly  letting  go  of  you.  You  ought  to  hear 
how  he  talks  about  you  behind  your  back !  You  have 
succeeded  in  nauseating  even  that  nobody !  On  the  ex- 
change he  doesn't  hesitate  to  say  out  loud  what  he 
thinks  of  your  new  .  .  .  industry,  the  emigration 
agency,  which  will  involve  you,  in  all  probability,  in 
trouble  with  the  courts !    Shame  on  you  1" 


i82  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

"Sir!  .  .  ."  said  Bejard,  jumping  to  his  feet; 
"Dupoissy  is  a  blackmailer  whom  I  shall  put  in 
jail!" 

But  without  even  listening  to  the  interruption,  Do- 
bouziez  was  continuing: 

"And  you  have  gone  from  bad  to  worse !  To  stoop 
to  becoming  a  dealer  in  human  flesh!  Really,  I  am 
beginning  to  believe  the  stories  that  they  tell  about 
you.  First  dealing  in  negroes,  then  in  whites ;  it's  quite 
proper !  On  my  word  of  honor,  I  don't  know  which 
I  should  rather  have,  a  slave-dealer  or  an  emigration 
agent.  You  haven't  even  had  enough  shame  to  change 
the  name  of  the  "Gina,"  which  now  carries  off  all  those 
poor  wretches  to  Buenos  Aires!  And  your  political 
jobbery !  I  suppose  that  I  borrowed  from  your  cash- 
register  all  the  goldpieces  and  banknotes  with  which 
you  had  yourself  elected  deputy.  ...  I  don't  have  to 
remind  you  with  how  much  enthusiasm  and  sin- 
cerity! .  .  ." 

And,  terrible,  regaining  the  commanding  air  and 
bitter  tone  of  other  days,  Dobouziez  threw  all  his  griev- 
ances in  his  son-in-law's  face. 

"And  as  if  all  this  were  not  enough,"  he  continued ; 
"not  content  with  having  stupidly  ruined  yourself, 
and  having  lost  with  criminal  laxity  the  property  of 
your  wife  and  child,  you  are  making  Gina  unhappy; 
you  not  only  sacrifice  her  to  your  political  ambition, 
but  you  have  mistresses,  too  .  .  .  you  have  to  keep  ac- 
tresses .  .  .  with  the  excuse  that  it's  a  man's  privi- 
lege !  And  that's  not  all.  The  houses  of  ill-fame  in  the 
Riet-Dijk  have  no  customer  as  frequent  and  as  prodi- 
gal as  Deputy  Bejard !  Look  here !  If  I  could  follow 
my  own  inclination,  I  should  take  Gina  and  her  child 
home  with  me,  and  I  should  let  you  give  yourself  all 


SON-IN-LAW  AND  FATHER-IN -LAW     183 

your  parliamentary  airs  before  the  empty  cash-box 
and  exhausted  credit.  .  .  ." 

'Your  daughter!  You  had  better  talk  about  your 
daughter!"  sneered  Bejard,  pulling  and  chewing  his 
reddish  whiskers  with  temper.  "Do  you  reckon  as 
nothing  Madame's  whims  and  her  unreasonableness? 
Damn  it !  I  had  to  resort  to  speculation  and  lucrative 
business  to  meet  her  harlot's  luxury.  My  income  as  a 
ship-owner  would  never  have  been  enough.  But  that 
was  to  be  expected,  after  the  splendid  education  you 
gave  her !" 

"Why  did  you  take  her  away  from  me,  then  ?"  asked 
Dobouziez.  "I  was  happy  and  proud  to  see  her  well- 
dressed,  radiant,  surrounded  by  things  that  were  ex- 
pensive, but  to  her  taste.  Oh!  if  I  had  had  to  pay 
only  for  her  clothes  and  her  pleasures,  her  jewels  and 
little  ornaments,  monsieur,  do  you  hear  me,  my  funds 
would  not  be  as  low  as  they  are  now,  since  I  have  had 
to  defray  the  bills  of  your  political  sport,  and  cover 
your  stupid  and  extravagant  expenses  with  my  signa- 
ture. You  had  better  not  talk  to  me  about  what  it  has 
cost  me;  wasters  and  spenders  like  you  don't  let  me 
off  so  cheap.  They  take  everything  away  from  me; 
even  my  reputation !  .  .  ." 

And  Dobouziez,  exhausted,  let  himself  fall  into  an 
armchair. 

Bejard  had  been  listening  almost  all  the  while, 
tramping  up  and  down  the  floor,  whistling  softly  at 
the  most  lashing  truths. 

Upstairs  in  the  drawing  rooms,  the  voice  of  Madame 
Bejard,  low,  rich  and  melancholy,  continued  to  re- 
sound. And  her  voice  stirred  the  manufacturer  to  the 
depths  of  his  heart.  For  though  his  probity  and  his 
prudence  as  a  business  man  suffered  because  he  had 


i84  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

been  so  mistaken  in  his  son-in-law's  commercial  fac- 
ulty, Dobouziez  was  especially  bitter  with  himself  for 
having  exposed  the  honor  and  the  fortune  of  his 
daughter  to  the  risks  of  this  marriage. 

Dobouziez  had  hoped  for  a  divorce,  but  the  child 
had  come,  and  the  mother  feared  that  it  would  be 
taken  away  from  her.  In  rehearsing  the  difficulties  of 
his  own  situation,  the  manufacturer  had  not  exag- 
gerated. For  a  long  time  the  factory  had  been  losing 
money;  it  gave  employment  to  but  half  its  former 
staff.  Dobouziez  had  drained  his  resources  completely 
ten  times  to  finance  Bejard's  deals.  The  suspension 
of  payment  of  the  American  house,  of  which  Bejard 
had  received  notice,  affected  him  also.  How  would 
he  meet  this  new  complication?  He  could  get  out  of 
the  mess  himself  only  by  mortgaging  the  factory  and 
his  property. 

But  could  he  allow  his  daughter's  husband,  the 
father  of  his  grandson  and  godson,  to  be  declared  a 
bankrupt? 

Bejard  waited  his  answer  in  silence.  He  had  let 
him  argue  and  vent  his  wrath,  and  now  he  was  read- 
ing in  the  old  man's  contracted  face  the  conflicting 
emotions  that  were  struggling  for  mastery  within 
him.  When  he  thought  the  time  had  come  to  take 
up  the  subject  once  more,  he  resorted  to  his  cloying 
tone  of  a  crafty  Jew. 

"No  more  of  these  recriminations,  father-in-law," 
he  began.  "And  even  though  we  throw  our  wrongs, 
real  or  fancied,  in  each  other's  faces  for  hours,  what 
good  is  it  going  to  do  ?  Let's  talk  little,  but  keep  to  the 
point.  It  isn't  so  desperate,  hang  it  all !  It  will  come 
through  all  right  if  you  don't  persist  in  plunging  me 
further  and  further  in  the  scrape  into  which  I  feel 


SON-IN-LAW  AND  FATHER-IN-LAW     185 

myself  sinking.  I  have  figured  up  on  this  paper — 
and  you  can  take  it  away  to  verify  my  figures  at  your 
leisure — that  my  debts  and  obligations  will  reach  two 
million  francs.  Please  don't  let's  have  any  more  elec- 
tric shocks  ...  so  that  I  may  be  able  to  explain  the 
situation  to  you!  I  have  enough  money  myself  to 
liquidate  the  first  four  notes  that  mature,  amounting 
to  about  eight  hundred  thousand  francs.  That  will 
carry  us  until  the  first  of  next  month.  .  .  ." 

"And  then?'* 

"And  then  I  shall  have  to  reckon  upon  you  !'* 

"Do  you  seriously  believe  that  I  am  going  to  find 
you  over  a  million  francs  ?" 

"I  couldn't  believe  it  any  more  seriously." 

The  same  mortal  and  tense  silence  ensued,  while 
Gina,  upstairs,  continued  singing  the  beautiful  classic 
German  songs,  accompanying  herself  at  the  piano. 
Dobouziez  put  his  forehead  between  his  hands  and 
crushed  it  as  if  he  wished  to  squeeze  out  his  brain, 
then  relaxed  suddenly,  rose,  clenched  his  fists,  and 
without  letting  Bejard  know  in  any  other  way 
what  extreme  measures  he  had  resolved  upon,  he 
said: 

"Let  me  have  two  weeks  to  think  it  over  .  .  .  and 
don't  involve  yourself  any  further  between  now  and 
then!  .  .  .'' 

Bejard  understood  that  his  father-in-law  would  save 
him,  and  came  toward  him,  his  hand  outstretched, 
smothered  in  sweetish  formulas  of  gratitude. 

But  Dobouziez  drew  back,  swinging  his  hands 
sharply  behind  his  back. 

"Useless!  ...  If  you  are  really  capable  of  some 
gratitude,  you  owe  it  to  Gina  and  the  baby.  ...  If  it 
had  not  been  for  them  !...*' 


i86  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

He  did  not  finish,  but  Bejard,  not  lacking  perspicac- 
ity, did  not  persist. 

They  both  went  upstairs  into  the  drawing  rooms, 
pretending  to  carry  on  a  trifling  conversation. 

Dobouziez  started  to  go  home.  Gina  went  with 
him  to  the  hall,  helped  him  into  his  coat,  and  then  of- 
fered him  her  forehead.  Dobouziez  kissed  it  linger- 
ingly,  took  her  head  in  his  hands,  and  looked  at  her 
with  pride  and  tenderness. 

"Would  you  be  happy,  darling,  to  live  with  me 
again?" 

"How  can  you  even  ask  that?" 

"Very  well;  if  you  are  very  good,  and  especially  if 
you  recover  a  little  of  your  former  gaiety,  I  shall  ar- 
range to  come  and  live  with  you  here.  But  keep  my 
intentions  secret.    Goodnight,  girl.  .  .  ." 


VIII 
DAELMANS-DEYNZE 

At  the  end  of  one  of  the  riverside  streets  in  the 
Marche-aux-Chevaux,  where  great  cold  mansions,  the 
homes  of  patrician  famiUes,  are  unwilling  neighbors 
to  the  offices  and  stores  of  wholesale  merchants,  the 
scene  of  the  continual  passage  to  and  fro  of  a  pros- 
perous crowd, — there  runs  a  tawny  wall,  crumbling  to 
dust  beneath  the  weight  of  two  centuries,  but  massive 
enough  to  do  service  for  many  years  to  come. 

Midway  along  the  wall  a  great  carriage  entrance 
leads  to  a  vast  courtyard  enclosed  upon  three  sides  by 
buildings  that  date  back  to  the  time  of  Archduke  Al- 
bert and  Isabella,  but  which,  during  the  intervening 
centuries,  have  undergone  the  rebuilding  and  restora- 
tion made  necessary  by  their  modern  destiny. 

One  of  the  heavy  black  doors  bears  a  large  brass 
plate,  conscientiously  polished,  upon  which  one  may 
read  in  tall  letters :  J.  B.  Daelmans-Deynze  &  Cie.  The 
engraver  had  wanted  to  add,  "Colonial  produce."  But 
why?  It  had  long  been  established  in  Antwerp,  as 
surely  as  two  and  two  are  four,  that  Daelmans-Deynze, 
the  only  Daelmans-Deynze,  had  been  in  colonial  p'rod- 
uce,  father  and  son,  since  the  Austrian  domination, 
perhaps  even  as  far  back  as  the  glories  of  the  Hansa, 

187 


i88  NEW  CARTHAGE 

If  one  passed  through  the  carriage  entrance,  as 
dark  as  a  tunnel  in  the  fortifications,  and  came  into  the 
courtyard,  one  first  saw  an  alert,  but  stout,  old  man, 
ruddy,  with  thin  twisted  legs  that  were  buttressed  more 
than  was  actually  necessary,  but  which  were  in  constant 
movement  He  was  Pietje  the  door-keeper,  Pietje  de 
kromme — the  knock-kneed,  as  the  clerks  and  journey- 
men of  the  firm  irreverently  called  him.  But  Pietje 
took  no  umbrage  at  the  name.  As  soon  as  he  saw  you, 
he  would  take  off  his  black  cap  with  the  lacquered  peak 
and,  if  you  asked  for  the  head  of  the  firm,  he  would 
say,  according  to  the  hour  of  the  day  .  .  .  "At  the 
back,  in  the  house,  if  you  please,  sir ;"  or,  "To  the  right, 
in  his  ofiice,  at  your  service." 

The  courtyard,  paved  with  solid  bluestone,  was  gen- 
erally obstructed  by  bags,  cases,  casks,  barrels,  demi- 
johns, and  leather  bottles  of  all  colors  and  dimensions. 

But  Pietje,  amused  by  your  frank  expression  of 
surprise,  would  tell  you  that  all  this  was  but  a  minor 
warehouse,  a  stock  of  samples. 

"At  the  Saint-Felix  warehouse,  or  on  the  docks  at 
the  Old  Basins,  you  can  see  some  of  the  merchandise 
imported  or  exported  by  Daelmans-Deynze !" 

Heavy  trucks,  drawn  by  the  enormous  horses  of  the 
Nations,  their  powerful  flanks  glistening,  waited  in 
the  street  to  be  loaded  or  unloaded.  Van  Liere, 
the  warehouse-keepeer,  thin  and  lanky  in  his  jacket, 
clean-shaven,  with  the  eye  of  a  customs-inspector,  a 
pencil  and  notebook  in  hand,  was  taking  notes,  adding 
figures,  filling  out  blanks,  seizing  way-bills,  looking 
over  invoices,  occasionally  jumping,  with  the  agility  of 
a  squirrel,  upon  a  pile  of  merchandise,  the  condition 
of  which  he  was  examining,  ejaculating  questions,  re- 
proving his  assistants,  hurrying  the  truckmen  in  a 


DAELMANS'DEYNZE  189 

language  as  unintelligible  as  Sanskrit  to  one  uninitiated 
into  the  mysteries  of  colonial  produce. 

The  dockers,  huge  fellows  with  the  build  of  antique 
gods,  wearing  leather  aprons,  the  muscles  of  their 
bare  arms  twisting  like  strands  of  a  cable,  flushed, 
hurried,  lifted  the  huge  bales  with  lively  cries,  and, 
having  balanced  the  burden  upon  their  shoulders, 
seemed  to  be  carrying  only  a  load  of  feathers.  The 
truckman,  in  blue  blouse,  brown-ribbed  corduroy  trou- 
sers, his  felt  hat  misshapen  and  discolored  by  the  rain, 
was  listening  respectfully  to  Van  Liere's  observa- 
tions. 

"Minus,  move  a  little!  Let  the  gentleman  pass," 
said  this  potentate  with  a  smile  of  condescension,  see- 
ing your  embarrassing  situation  in  the  wink  of  an  eye, 
as  you  were  striding  over  bags  and  cases,  not  knowing 
how  your  gymnastics  were  to  end. 

One  of  the  giants  removed,  as  if  with  the  back  of  his 
callous  hand,  a  tormenting  barrel,  and  with  the 
*Thank-you"  of  a  rescued  castaway,  you  finally  pushed 
a  door  in  the  corner  made  by  the  street  wall  and  the 
right-hand  building,  a  door  on  the  glass  pane  of  which 
was  the  word  "Offices." 

But  you  entered  only  the  waiting-room. 

A  new  swarm  of  people.  Cheer  up!  The  leather- 
padded  door  leading  to  the  inner  rooms  slid  silently. 
Twenty  tireless  pens  were  grinding  on  the  thick  paper 
of  the  account  books,  or  brushing  over  the  tissue  on 
which  letters  were  duplicated;  twenty  bookkeeper's 
desks,  back  to  back,  extended  in  a  line  down  the  whole 
length  of  a  room,  lit  from  the  court,  by  six  tall  win- 
dows; twenty  clerks  perched  on  as  many  stools,  their 
sleeves  protected  by  paper  cornucopias,  their  noses  bu- 
ried  in  work,   seemed  not  to  have   perceived  your 


190  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

intrusion.    You  coughed,  not  daring  a  direct  ques- 
tion. 

"Foreign  business,  sir?"  "Correspondence?" 
"Cashier?"  "Corinthian  goods?"  "Dates?"  "Prunes?" 
"Olive  Oil?"  the  heads  of  these  diverse  departments 
asked  you  mechanically,  without  even  looking  up,  until 
you  reached  the  end  of  the  line. 

"No!"  you  would  answer  to  the  least  imposing  of 
this  staff,  a  young  man  with  the  polite  air  of  a  novice, 
the  office  boy,  clad  in  trousers  too  short  for  his  long 
body,  his  arms  doing  a  perpetual  steeple-chase  with 
the  sleeve  of  his  jacket,  beating  the  short-winded  goods 
by  the  length  of  a  hand,  a  wrist,  or  part  of  a  fore- 
arm. 

"No !"  you  said,  "I  would  like  to  speak  to  Monsieur 
Daelmans " 

"Daelmans-Deynze,"  the  terrified  young  man  would 
answer.  "Monsieur  Daelmans-Deynze  ...  the  door 
right  ahead  of  you.  Let  me  go  first,  please.  He  may 
be  busy.    Your  name,  please,  sir?" 

Finally,  the  last  formality  having  been  complied 
with,  you  advanced,  skirting  the  line  of  desks,  and 
passing  in  review  the  twenty  clerks,  fat  and  lean, 
chlorotic  or  pimpled,  pale  or  ruddy,  blond  or  dark, 
varying  from  sixty  to  eighteen — the  age  of  the  dis- 
tressed young  man — but  all  equally  busy,  profoundly 
disdainful  of  the  profane  motive  that  brought  you,  a 
simple  observer,  an  artist,  an  intermittent  worker,  into 
this  environment  of  incessant  activity,  one  of  the  sanct- 
uaries consecrated  to  Mercury  of  the  winged  feet. 

And  it  was  hardly  worth  while  for  Monsieur  Lynen, 
the  old  cashier,  to  raise  his  bald  head  and  gold  specta- 
cles as  you  went  by,  or  for  Monsieur  Bietermans,  sec- 
ond to  him  in  importance,  the  correspondent  for  foreign 


DAELMANS-DEYNZE  191 

languages,  to  adjust  his  Japanese  eyeglasses  on  his 
diplomatically  curved  nose  to  ogle  you  for  a  second. 

But  did  these  supernumeraries  count,  now  that  you 
were  admitted  to  the  presence  of  the  supreme  head  of 
the  firm?  He  had  bid  you  enter  in  his  sonorous 
voice.  He  was  there  before  your  eyes,  this  man,  solid 
as  a  pillar,  a  pillar  maintaining  upon  its  shoulders  one 
of  the  oldest  houses  in  Antwerp.  He  has  looked  you 
up  and  down  with  blue-grey,  clear  eyes,  without  im- 
pertinence; in  a  single  glance  he  gauges  his  man  as 
quickly  as  he  transacts  a  bit  of  business  on  the  Ex- 
change; his  eyes  contain  both  compass  and  plummet; 
he  knows  what  stuff  you  are  made  of,  and  can  tell, 
with  the  certainty  of  a  touchstone,  if  you  are  pure  gold 
or  but  gold  plate. 

A  terrible  man  for  uneasy  consciences,  or  for  spec- 
ulators, this  Daelmans-Deynze !  But  a  judicious 
friend,  an  amiable  protector  and  a  reliable  support  for 
honest  people,  and  you  must  be  one,  for  he  has  ten- 
dered his  large  hand  heartily,  and  grasped  yours. 

His  pen  behind  his  ear,  his  mouth  smiling,  his  face 
frank  and  cordial,  he  listens  to  you,  punctuating  your 
polite  phrases  with  the  kind,  "Very  well,  thank  you," 
of  a  man  who  knows  that  one  interests  oneself  only 
in  what  concerns  one.  His  health  ?  You  inquire  as  to 
his  health.  Could  anyone  carry  fifty-five  years  more 
lightly  than  he?  His  hair  is  correctly  cut,  and  divided 
by  an  irreproachable  part ;  it  is  becoming  grey,  but  has 
not  yet  deserted  his  fine  head;  later  on  it  will  be  a 
white  aureole,  and  lend  an  added  attraction  to  his  sym- 
pathetic face.  His  long,  dark  whiskers,  which  he  keeps 
fingering  mechanically,  are  beginning  to  show  a  few 
white  hairs,  but  they  are  very  aristocratic-looking  as 
they  are.    And  his  forehead ;  can  the  slightest  wrinkle 


192  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

be  discovered  there?  Is  not  his  rosy  complexion  the 
healthiest  of  colors,  the  complexion  of  a  man  without 
any  rancor,  with  a  well-balanced  temperament  as  far 
removed  from  consumption  as  it  is  from  apoplexy? 
Daelmans-Deynze  does  not  even  wear  spectacles.  A 
little  folding  eyeglass  is  suspended  from  a  cord  worn 
around  his  neck.  But  that  is  but  a  simple  fad.  It  ren- 
ders him  as  little  service  as  the  charms  that  hang  from 
his  watch  chain.  His  clothes  are  sober  and  fashion- 
able. Very  dark  suits  and  very  white  linen  are  his 
sole  indulgence  in  the  matter  of  dress.  Tall,  large 
of  shoulder,  he  holds  himself  as  straight  as  a  die,  or 
rather,  as  we  have  already  said,  as  a  pillar  upon  which 
reposes  the  interests  of  one  of  the  oldest  houses  in 
Antwerp. 

Worthy  Daelmans-Deynze !  In  the  street,  he  has  to 
bow  at  every  step.  From  children  on  their  way  to 
school  to  factory  hands,  everyone  doffs  their  hat  to 
him.  Even  to  the  old  and  aristocratic  Baron  Van  der 
Dorpen,  who  salutes  him,  often  the  first,  with  a 
friendly,  "Good  morning,  Monsieur  Daelmans."  It  is 
because  his  commercial  escutcheon  has  never  borne  the 
slightest  stain.  If  you  claim  his  acquaintance,  no  door 
in  the  great  business  city,  from  Tete  de  Grue  to  Astru- 
weel,  will  ever  be  closed  to  you. 

In  a  matter  that  threatens  litigation,  it  is  with  him 
that  both  parties  prefer  to  consult  before  seeking  at- 
torneys. How  many  times  has  not  his  arbitration 
staved  off  ruinous  lawsuits,  or  his  intervention  and 
guarantee  prevented  disastrous  failures!  You  ask 
after  his  wife?  .  .  .  "She  is  very  well,  thank  heaven! 
I  shall  take  you  in  to  see  her.  You  will  take  luncheon 
with  us,  won't  you?  And  in  the  meanwhile  we  shall 
have  a  glass  of  sherry." 


DAELMANS-DEYNZE  193 

He  puts  his  great  hand  on  your  shoulder  in  sign  of 
possession ;  you  are  his  man,  no  matter  what  you  may 
do.  Moreover,  it  is  impossible  to  refuse  so  cordial  an 
invitation.  He  could  take  you  directly  from  the  office 
to  the  house  through  a  little  secret  door,  but  he  has 
still  a  few  instructions  to  give  to  Messrs.  Bietermans 
and  Lynen. 

"A  letter  from  our  London  correspondent?"  asks 
Bietermans,  rising. 

"Oh !  from  Mordaunt-Hackey.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes !  The 
sugar  business,  no  doubt!  Please  write  him  that  we 
abide  by  our  conditions.  Messieurs,  I  bid  you  a  very 
good  day!  .  .  .  Who  is  going  on  the  Exchange  to- 
day? You,  Torfs?  Then  don't  forget  to  speak  to 
Monsieur  Barwoets.  .  .  .  Excuse  me,  my  friend. 
There!    Now  I  am  with  you!  .  .  ." 

What  an  amiable  man  is  Daelmans-Deynze ! 

His  orders  were  given  in  the  paternal  tone  that  made 
his  employes  fanatic  auxiliaries. 

One  of  the  causes  of  his  popularity  in  Antwerp, 
and  that  not  the  least  cause,  was  that  the  firm  em- 
ployed only  Flemish  workmen,  and  especially  natives 
of  Antwerp,  while  the  majority  of  the  great  houses 
gave  preference  to  Germans. 

The  worthy  sinjoor  did  not  even  wish  to  accept  for- 
eigners as  volunteers.  He  did  not  shirk  additional  ex- 
pense in  order  to  give  bread  and  butter  to  the  young 
men  of  Antwerp,  the  jongens  van  Antwerpen,  as  he 
said,  proud  himself  to  be  one  of  them. 

The  other  merchants  found  this  way  of  conducting 
a  business  very  eccentric.  The  Rhenish  banker  Fuch- 
skopf  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  said  to  his  com- 
patriots residing  in  Antwerp,  "Dot  chap  Taelmans  is 
making  boetry,"  but  the  worthy  Flamand  did  good  and 


194  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

let  others  talk  about  it,  and  the  Tilbaks  spoke  lovingly 
of  the  patriotism  of  the  millionaire  at  the  Marche-aux- 
Chevaux,  and  Vincent  held  this  destiny  before  the 
eyes  of  his  little  Pierket,  a  good  student,  "One  day  you 
will  enter  the  employment  of  Daelmans-Deynze." 

He  has  led  you  to  the  end  of  the  courtyard,  and 
into  the  house,  the  ancient  facade  of  which  is  overrun 
with  ivy  almost  as  old  as  the  house  itself.  At  the  left, 
opposite  the  offices,  are  the  stables  and  coach-house. 
You  ascend  four  steps,  and  push  open  the  great  glass 
door,  canopied  by  a  marquise. 

"Josephine !    Here  is  a  resurrected  friend !" 

And  a  hearty  clap  on  the  back  from  the  hand  of 
your  host  brings  you  into  the  presence  of  Madame 
Daelmans. 

She  has  been  working  at  a  bit  of  crochet,  but  gives 
vent  to  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  and  goes  into  rap- 
tures at  the  happy  inspiration  to  which  they  owe  your 
visit. 

If  the  husband  is  charming,  and  a  splendid  host, 
what  can  be  said  of  his  wife?  Pre-eminently  the  Ant- 
werp housewife,  she  is  solicitous,  neat  and  diligent. 

She  is  forty  years  old,  this  Madame  Daelmans. 
Strands  of  glossy  black  hair  frame  a  merry  face 
wherein  burn  two  dark,  affectionate  eyes,  and  whose 
lips  smile  maternally.  Her  cheeks  are  plump,  and  the 
color  of  a  ripening  apple. 

The  good  lady  is  short,  and  complains  that  she  is 
beginning  to  be  too  stout.  However,  laziness  is  not 
the  cause  of  her  corpulence.  She  rises  at  daybreak, 
and  is  always  on  her  feet,  as  active  and  busy  as  an  ant. 
She  presides,  so  she  says,  over  all  the  details  of  the 
housekeeping,  but  what  she  does  not  tell  is  that  she  puts 
her  hand  to  all  the  work.    Nothing  goes  quickly  enough 


DAELMANS-DEYNZE  195 

to  suit  her.  She  instructs  her  cook  in  the  art  of  mak- 
ing pot-au-feu  repeatedly,  and  shows  the  chamber- 
maid how  the  furniture  must  be  dusted.  She  runs  up- 
stairs and  down.  She  has  hardly  sat  down  and  put 
her  hand  upon  the  newspaper  or  the  knitting  that  she 
has  just  begun  when  she  begins  to  worry  about  the 
fate  of  the  ragout  simmering  in  the  casserole,  or  the 
store  of  pears  in  the  cellar.  Lise  might  have  made  too 
big  a  fire,  and  Pier  would  forget  to  turn  the  fruit  that 
had  begun  to  spot  on  one  side.  But  she  is  never  ill- 
tempered;  the  good  lady  is  vigilant  without  being  a 
meddler.  She  gives  largely  to  the  poor  of  the  parish, 
but  does  not  tolerate  the  waste  of  the  slightest  crumb 
of  bread. 

And  how  beautifully  she  maintains  Daelmans- 
Deynze's  old  house!  In  the  great  room  into  which 
you  have  been  led,  you  are  not  struck  by  new-fangled 
styles,  a  flaming  new  set  of  furniture,  paintings  to 
which  the  fashionable  decorator  has  just  given  the  last 
hasty  touch.  No ;  it  is  the  substantial  and  simple  room 
which  you  imagined  in  seeing  its  owners.  Their  furni- 
ture is  not  the  companion  of  a  day,  bought  in  a  moment 
of  caprice  and  to  be  replaced  by  another  whim.  There 
are  solid  sofas  and  massive  mahogany  arm-chairs  in 
Empire  style,  upholstered  in  pistache  green  velour. 
The  upholstery  is  renewed  from  time  to  time  with 
jealous  care,  and  the  time-honored  wood  is  conscien- 
tiously polished;  they  are  kept  on  like  the  old  house- 
hold servants,  and  will  never  be  replaced. 

The  gilding  of  the  mirrors,  the  picture  frames  and 
the  chandeliers  has  long  ago  lost  its  native  gleam,  and 
the  colors  of  the  thick  Smyrna  carpet  have  been  eaten 
away  by  the  sunlight,  but  the  old  family  portraits  gain 
in  intimacy  and  in  a  patriarchal  poetry  in  their  dulled 


196  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

gold  frames,  and  the  fleecy  carpet  has  shed  its  shrill 
colors;  its  striking  bouquets  have  taken  the  tone  of 
September  foliage.  For  many  years  past  the  huge 
alabaster  vases  have  filled  out  the  four  comers  of  the 
vast  room,  the  walls  have  been  hung  in  the  same  Cor- 
dovan leather,  the  round  rosewood  table  has  held  the 
center  of  the  room,  the  ornamental  clock  with  a  vibrat- 
ing and  silvery  tone  has  struck  the  hours  from  its  po- 
sition between  the  ten-branched  bronze  candelabras. 
But  these  old  things  have  an  air  of  distinction  about 
them;  they  are  relics  of  the  penates.  And  the  anti- 
macassars and  tidies,  examples  of  Madame  Daelmans* 
diligent  crochetting,  hang  upon  the  dull  velour  in  the 
severe  and  charming  folds  of  altar-cloths. 

It  was  to  Daelmans-Deynze  that  William  Dobouziez 
presented  himself  on  the  morrow  of  Freddy  Bejard's 
political  dinner. 

The  two  men,  comrades  at  college,  had  always  highly 
esteemed  each  other,  and  had  seen  each  other  fre- 
quently for  many  years ;  it  was  the  too  apparent  lux- 
ury, the  flashy  style  of  living,  and  especially  the  bust- 
ling, cosmopolitan  connections  of  the  manufacturer 
which  had  alienated  Monsieur  Daelmans  from  a  col- 
league whose  solid  knowledge,  application  and  probity 
he  had  deeply  appreciated.  At  one  time,  indeed,  they 
had  even  seriously  thought  of  going  into  partnership. 
Daelmans  had  intended  to  invest  his  capital  in  the  fac- 
tory. But  that  had  been  at  the  time  of  Dobouziez's 
greatest  prosperity,  and  he  had  preferred  to  continue 
as  sole  proprietor  of  the  business.  Today  he  came  to 
humbly  propose  that  the  merchant  reconsider  the  prop- 
osition. 

Daelmans-Deynze  had  long  known  that  the  factory 
was  in  jeopardy,  he  was  no  less  ignorant  of  the  sacri- 


DAELMANS-DE  YNZE 


197 


fices  incurred  by  Dobouziez  in  establishing  his  daughter 
and  helping  out  Bejard ;  he  could  have  exhibited  a  cer- 
tain astonishment  at  such  a  proposition,  and  disparaged 
the  offer  in  order  to  obtain  huge  concessions ;  but  Dael- 
mans-Deynze  behaved  with  greater  discretion  and  less 
knavery. 

At  heart,  he  had  no  great  desire  to  embarrass  him- 
self with  a  new  business  during  a  time  of  crisis  and 
stagnation,  but  he  had  divined,  from  the  first  words  of 
their  interview,  even  from  the  measures  upon  which 
Dobouziez  had  resolved  to  take,  that  Dobouziez  was  in 
frightful  difficulties,  and  Daelmans  belonged  to  the 
ever-diminishing  class  of  business  men  who  come  to 
each  other's  assistance.  One  may  well  admire  the  tact 
with  which  Daelmans  discussed  the  conditions  of 
the  purchase.  In  order  to  set  Dobouziez  at  his 
ease  he  evinced  no  surprise,  nor  did  he  employ  that 
tone  of  compassion  which  would  have  so  cruelly  hurt 
the  manufacturer;  he  did  not  even  insinuate  that,  if 
he  bought  the  factory,  it  would  be  only  to  oblige  a 
friend  in  need.  Not  a  recrimination,  not  a  reproach, 
no  air  of  superiority ! 

What  a  good  man  was  Daelmans-Deynze !  And  his 
kindheartedness  did  not  prevent  him  from  examining 
and  discussing  the  business  at  length.  He  knew  how 
to  combine  his  interests  and  his  generosity;  he  was 
willing  to  oblige  his  friend,  but  upon  condition  of  not 
running  into  debt  himself.  What  could  be  more  equit- 
able? It  was  both  strictly  businesslike  and  broadly 
human.    And  they  were  about  to  finish  the  deal. 

There  remained  one  point  which  neither  of  them 
wished  to  touch  upon,  although  both  had  it  at  heart. 
But  Dobouziez  was  proud,  and  Daelmans,  delicate. 
Finally  Daelmans  resolved  to  take  the  bull  by  the  horns. 


198  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

"And,  without  being  indiscreet,  Monsieur  Dobou- 
ziez,  what  doj^ou  plan  to  do  now?" 

Dobouziez  hesitated  to  answer.  He  did  not  dare 
express  what  he  would  have  wished. 

"See  here,"  continued  Daelmans,  "you  will  re- 
ceive my  proposition  as  you  understand  it,  and  it  is 
agreed  in  advance  that  you  will  forgive  me,  if  it  ap- 
pears to  be  inacceptable  to  you.  .  .  .  Well!  If  the 
factory  is  to  change  proprietors,  it  would  be  disas- 
trous for  it  to  lose  its  director  at  the  same  time.  Do 
you  understand  me?  I  would  even  say  that  such  an 
eventuality  would  prevent  me  from  buying  it.  Capi- 
tal is  replaced,  money  is  made,  or  lost,  or,"  he  was 
about  to  say  "frittered  away,"  but  refrained,  "is  made 
again.  But  what  it  is  hard  to  find,  and  harder  to  re- 
place, is  a  man  of  talent,  intelligence,  active,  expe- 
rienced; in  short,  a  business  man.  .  .  .  That  is  why 
I  am  asking  you.  Monsieur  Dobouziez,  whether  you 
would  find  it  inconvenient  to  remain  at  the  head  of  a 
business  that  you  yourself  built  up,  and  that  you  alone 
can  maintain  and  improve.  Do  we  understand  one 
another  ?" 

Did  they  understand  each  other!  They  could  not 
agree  upon  more  favorable  terms.  It  was  precisely 
the  solution  that  Monsieur  Dobouziez  was  hoping  for. 

Between  men  so  honest  and  so  upright,  the  salary 
of  the  director  was  agreed  upon  with  as  great  facility, 
subject  to  the  ratification  of  Saint-Fardier  and  the 
minor  shareholders ;  a  simple  formality.  It  goes  with- 
out saying  that  Daelmans  put  the  director's  salary 
at  a  respectably  high  figure.  He  even  wished  the  di- 
rector to  continue  his  occupation  of  the  house  adjoin- 
ing the  factory.  But  the  solitary  father  wished  to  go 
and  live  with  his  daughter. 


DAELMANS'DEYNZE  199 

Ah!  nobody  could  have  so  completely  assuaged  the 
bitterness  and  the  humiliation  which  this  sacrifice  cost 
Dobouziez !  Who  could  have  believetf  the  merchant 
capable  of  such  delicacy  and  such  fine  shadings  of 
kindness  ?  Dobouziez  was  forced  to  admit  it  in  the 
bottom  of  his  heart,  so  armored,  proud,  and  inacces- 
sible to  emotions.  And,  as  he  was  leaving  M.  Dael- 
mans — his  employer^ — as  he  was  uttering  some  correct 
formula  of  gratitude,  he  felt  as  if  icicles  were  suddenly 
melting  in  his  breast,  and  thinking  better  of  it,  fell  into 
the  arms  of  his  friend,  his  saviour. 

"Courage!"  said  the  other,  with  his  habitual  sim- 
plicity and  heartiness. 


IX 

THE  STOCK  EXCHANGE 

One  o'clock!  The  usual  hour  for  the  opening  of 
the  Exchange  is  rung  out  by  the  clock,  the  last  vestige 
of  the  former,  fire-gutted  building,  the  diligent  clock 
which,  when  the  flames  had  devoured  everything 
around  it,  and  were  pressing  it  most  closely,  persisted, 
like  a  faithful  servant,  in  dying  on  the  field  of  duty 
while  giving  the  official  time  to  the  mercantile  city.* 

One  o'clock!  Hasten,  laggards!  Hurry  and  dis- 
patch your  lunch,  take  nothing  but  a  mouthful,  men 
of  affairs  and  of  money !  Other  combinations  call  you, 
players  of  dominoes !  Finish  sipping  your  coffee  and 
gulping  down  fine  brandy!  Put  aside  the  news- 
paper, concise  though  it  may  be,  and  printed  for  your 
benefit !  Pay  your  checks  and  run,  or  beware  the  pen- 
alty! 

One  o'clock!  They  pour  in  from  all  parts  of  the 
city.  The  rich  of  today,  the  rich  of  tomorrow,  and 
the  rich  of  yesterday,  struggling  against  disaster,  fight- 
ing off  ruin,  millionaires  who,  having  made  hay  while 
the  sun  shone,  have  well  stored  their  nests,  and  other 
millionaires  whose  hay  has  flamed  up  like  a  rick 
of  straw ! 

*  The  Antwerp  Bourse  burned  down  on  the  night  of  August 
8,  1858. 

200 


THE  STOCK  EXCHANGE  201 

Come,  run,  fly,  miserable  tools  of  Fortune!  The 
wheel  is  turning;  catch  at  a  spoke,  try  and  control  its 
movement !  Watch  them  jostle  and  clamber  over  each 
other  to  grip  the  fatal  wheel,  cling  to  it  with  the  stub- 
bornness of  birds  of  prey,  today  on  top,  tomorrow 
underneath !  The  wheel  turns  and  turns,  and  the  axle 
grinds  and  creaks.  .  .  .  And  the  creaking  has  a  sin- 
ister echo !    Crash ! 

Since  early  in  the  morning  brokers  and  hangers-on 
have  been  coming  and  going,  meeting  each  other  in 
the  street,  busy,  excited,  not  stopping,  barely  exchang- 
ing a  greeting  as  dry  as  the  ticking  of  their  watches : 
Time  is  money!  Before  evening  the  best  friends  do 
not  recognize  each  other.  To  buy  or  not  to  buy?  That 
is  the  question!  drones  the  sordid  Hamlet  of  commerce. 
They  see  the  universe  only  from  the  point  of  view  of 
"bid''  and  "asked."  Produce  or  consume;  that  is 
all! 

One  o'clock !  Come,  let  the  pack,  avid  for  flesh,  be 
swallowed  up  by  the  four  doors  of  the  beautiful  pal- 
ace. With  its  magnificent  arches  bearing  the  emblems, 
symbols  and  shields  of  all  lands,  beneath  its  arched 
iron  nerves,  this  Gothic  monument,  varied  by  Moorish 
and  Byzantine  memories,  half  Aryan,  half  Semitic, 
presents  a  compromise  well  worthy  of  the  temple  of 
the  god  Commerce,  the  most  furtive  and  versatile  of 
gods. 

The  rites  have  begun.  The  dull  murmur  of  incan- 
tations rises  at  times  to  an  uproar.  Standing  up, 
their  hats  on  their  heads  as  if  in  a  synagogue,  the 
faithful  are  herding  together  and  chattering.  And 
gradually  the  atmosphere  becomes  vitiated.  One  can 
hardly  see  the  metals  or  the  coloring  of  the  mural  deco- 
rations; the  massive  beams  are  drowned  in  a  dense, 


202  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

misty  fog  of  thick  smoke!  Filthy  incense!  Heads 
look  as  though  they  were  detached  from  bodies  and 
floating  beneath  the  waves. 

At  first  sight,  as  one  comes  upon  this  assemblage, 
one  thinks  of  conventicles  and  witches*  sabbaths. 
Never  did  a  fen  of  thirsty  frogs  croak  in  so  swelling 
a  chorus  its  prayer  for  rain.  But  these  batracians  im- 
plore a  heavy  rain  of  gold. 

Little  by  little  one  succeeds  in  being  able  to  distin- 
guish the  various  groups  of  business  men  and  petty 
traders. 

In  one  corner  is  the  place  where  the  great  whole- 
sale merchants  habitually  congregate  on  the  Exchange. 
They  transact  business  while  affecting  to  talk  of  other 
things,  or  transfer  that  responsibility  to  some  assistant, 
who,  from  time  to  time,  comes  up  to  the  "boss"  to  re- 
ceive orders.  So  does  the  plenipotentiary  consult  the 
potentate.  Here,  enthroned,  the  billionaire  magis,  the 
high-priests  of  finance,  assert  their  sovereignty. 
Themselves  are  pillars  of  commerce,  as  solid  as  the 
columns  of  their  temples.  Philistine  columns,  alas, 
over  which  even  Samson  could  never  prevail.  Em- 
ployes, proprietors,  ship-owners,  ship-brokers,  bankers, 
strut  pompously,  their  hands  in  their  pockets  or 
clasped  behind  their  backs,  talking  little,  talking  of 
gold, — actually  and  figuratively.  Corpulent  plutocrats, 
formidable  augurs,  their  sibylline  predictions  depress 
or  extend  the  credit  of  subordinate  promoters.  One 
word  from  their  lips  enriches  or  ruins.  The  weather- 
vane  of  chance  is  turned  by  their  breath.  Upon  their 
caprices  depends  the  fluctuations  of  an  universal  mar- 
ket. Their  moons  regulate  these  tides.  With  their 
allies  of  other  great  cities,  they  possess  the  power  to 
deliver  over  the  poor  world  to  famine  and  war. 


THE  STOCK  EXCHANGE  203 

Successors  to  the  Fuggers  and  Salviatis,  to  the  super- 
cilious members  of  the  Hanseatic  League  whom  a 
richly  apparelled  convoy  of  heralds  and  musicians  pre- 
ceded each  day  to  the  Exchange,  they  traffic  in  em- 
pires and  peoples  as  simply  as  in  rice  and  coffee;  but, 
should  they  lend  money  to  kings,  less  pompous  and  less 
artistic  than  the  legendary  Focker,  they  would  not 
throw  upon  a  hearth  fed  with  cinnamon-bark,  the 
bond  of  Caesar,  their  great  debtor,  but  their  honored 
guest!  In  the  old  days  they  were  patricians;  today 
they  are  but  parvenus. 

Bulls  and  bears  consult  as  an  infallible  barometer 
the  wrinkles  of  their  foreheads,  the  expression  of 
their  lips,  the  color  of  their  look.  They  are  vicars  of 
the  divinity  symbolized  by  the  five- franc  note. 

Thus,  once  when  a  frank  talker  so  far  forgot  him- 
self as  to  speak  to  the  Rhenish  Jew  Fuchskopf  about 
a  noble  character,  a  genius  insufficiently  provided  with 
money,  and  to  implore  his  aid  for  an  unfortunate 
whose  plight  would  move  any  more  or  less  human 
mortal,  the  vile  usurer,  the  dealer  in  souls,  the  pro- 
vider of  unsold  shoes  to  the  butchered  soldiers  of 
recent  wars,  the  insatiable  shareholder  whom  coal 
miners,  caught  by  fire-damp,  starved  out  by  strikes, 
fired  upon  by  the  troops,  cursed  in  their  agony;  the 
Jew  drew  from  his  pocketbook  a  shining  five-franc 
piece  and,  instead  of  consecrating  it  to  an  exceptional 
charity,  passed  it  two  or  three  times  beneath  the  nose 
of  his  petitioner,  pressed  it  lovingly  between  his  twisted 
fingers,  moist  as  cupping  glasses,  drew  it  near  his  lips, 
as  though  he  were  kissing  a  paten,  and,  slightly  bend- 
ing his  knee,  addressed  this  untranslatable  orison  to 
the  fetich: 


204  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

"Achlieher  Christ 
Wo  du  nicht  hist 
1st  lauter  Schweinerei!" 

Then,  sneering,  he  replaced  the  offering  in  his  purse 
and  enjoyed  the  discomfiture  of  the  unlucky  inter- 
cessor, and  the  approbation  of  his  hangers-on. 

The  exchange-brokers  were  loquacious  and  busy 
after  another  manner  than  that  of  the  high  priests  of 
finance  and  commerce.  Spruce  and  stylish,  they 
whirled  and  rushed  about,  wormed  and  crept  into 
crowds,  gathering  gold  as  they  hovered.  They  were 
the  sacred  dancers,  and  their  pantomime  was  a  part 
of  the  ritual. 

With  a  less  dizzy  locomotion,  clad  more  soberly 
and  more  stiffly,  the  stock  brokers  moved  about,  shufiF- 
ling  sheafs  of  certificates  carelessly  rolled  in  pocket- 
books  or  old  newspapers,  and  scrawling  their  memo- 
randums on  the  back  of  an  obliging  customer. 

Clad  in  lounging  suits,  merchandise-agents  stored  a 
quantity  of  packages  of  samples  in  their  pockets.  One 
made  a  little  heap  of  Cheribon  beans  in  the  palm  of 
his  hand  so  that  the  grocer  whom  he  hoped  to  catch 
and  overreach  could  smell  them  from  a  distance.  An- 
other tried  to  persuade  a  customer  of  the  superiority 
of  his  tobacco,  Kentucky  or  Maryland,  and  ended  by 
saddling  another  timid  customer,  who  only  wanted  a 
single  hogshead,  with  the  whole  crop. 

Each  specialty,  each  article  had  its  own  location. 
No  one  would  have  suspected  the  order  lurking  be- 
neath this  apparent  confusion;  the  number  of  divi- 
sions, classifications,  subdivisions.  Refiners,  distillers, 
importers  of  oil  or  rubber,  customs-house  brokers,  in- 
surance brokers  occupied,  from  January  first  to  Decern- 


THE  STOCK  EXCHANGE  205 

ber  thirty-first,  the  few  square  feet  assigned  to  them 
without  encroaching  upon  their  neighbors.  Anybody 
familiar  with  the  Exchange  could  play  blind-man's- 
buff  in  the  middle  of  this  anthill  and  with  no  difficulty 
lay  his  hands  upon  any  particular  man  whom  he  might 
need. 

The  subject  of  the  conversations,  the  business  under 
discussion,  varied  step  by  step.  Proprietors  of  ships 
discussed  the  clauses  of  a  charter-party  with  their  char- 
terers. Bonders  jabbered  of  schedules  and  warrants. 
The  air  was  full  of  barbarous  and  exotic  phrases; 
hundred-weights,  primage,  loans  on  bottomry.  There 
was  talk  of  special  felonies  provided  against  by  par- 
ticular laws.  A  shipowner  was  complaining  of  the 
barratry  committed  by  his  captains.  Elsewhere  some- 
one was  reckoning  the  total  tax  on  navigation.  A 
shipper  was  consulting  with  his  supercargo.  Nautical 
assessors  were  drawing  up  statements  of  damages. 

His  hat  in  his  hand,  the  dean  of  a  Nation  was  offer- 
ing his  services  to  an  importer  of  live  beef  from  Argen- 
tina, and  to  another  man  who  had  received  a  cargo  of 
preserved  meat  from  the  same  country.  A  custom- 
officer  was  taxing  the  haes  of  one  of  the  Nations  with 
fraud  and  irregularity,  and  they,  in  turn,  were  blam- 
ing it  upon  the  bonded  merchant. 

All  around  the  ground  floor,  beneath  the  galleries, 
there  were  lines  of  high  desks  from  which  the  cal- 
culators, figures  turned  men,  climbed  down  only  to 
climb  up  again,  as  if  struck  with  vertigo,  making  them- 
selves hoarse  bawling  out  quotations  that  the  report- 
ers from  financial  newspapers  were  hastily  taking  down 
in  their  notebooks. 

So  many  manoeuvres  to  arrive  at  a  single  result; 
money !    One  man  had  a  taciturn,  almost  funereal  air. 


2o6  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

and  talked  business  with  compunction;  another  was 
treating  Mercury  lightly,  and  mixing  into  his  jargon  a 
few  shady  stories. 

Lightermen,  owners  of  heurts  and  barges,  their  faces 
brick-red,  silver  rings  in  their  ears,  stood  at  one  side, 
near  the  door,  and,  shifting  from  one  foot  to  the  other, 
spat,  chewed,  played  tricks  on  each  other,  and  exhaled 
a  greasy  odor  as  they  waited  for  charterers.  English 
captains  quarrelled,  raising  their  voices  as  if  they  were 
ordering  a  landing,  and  disagreeably  annoying  a 
group  of  young  fops  and  old  beaus  snubbed  by  some 
speculators  who,  not  far  off,  were  whispering  the  lat- 
est scandal,  enumerating  the  instances  of  yesterday's 
good  luck,  unveiling  the  secrets  of  the  alcove  and  the 
counting  house,  making  up  select  pleasure  parties  for 
the  evening,  and  relieving  the  arid  ritual  of  commerce 
with  stories  of  the  boudoir  and  the  greenroom. 

"With  their  god-damns,  they  would  make  a  saint 
god-damn,"  declared  the  wittier  of  the  two  young 
Saint-Fardiers,  looking  at  the  flashy  sea-wolves,  and 
taking  himself  off  as  he  said  it.  His  brother  left  with 
him,  as  radiant  as  if  he  had  been  responsible  for  the 
joke.  They  were  given  time  to  withdraw  some  dis- 
tance ;  then  the  circle  came  together  again. 

"Their  wives  are  going  it  a  nice  pace !  Til  bet  they 
make  their  husbands  'god-damn!'  Athanasius  has 
nothing  to  envy  Gaston ;  they  look  more  alike  than  ever. 
And  everyone  is  asking  which  of  the  two  is  the  more 
duped.    Have  you  heard  about  Cora's  last  escapade?" 

"Our  great  Frederick  Barbarossa  ?" 

"No — the  robin  has  been  jilted !  The  military  cap 
has  supplanted  the  hat !" 

"A  Belgian  miltiary  cap.  .  .  .'' 

"Or  almost.  .  .  ." 


THE  STOCK  EXCHANGE  2^ 

"That  means  the  civic  guard.  .  .  ." 

"Eureka!" 

"I  don't  know.  .  .  ." 

"The  excellent  Pascal  who  knows  no  Greek.  .  .  ." 

"Van  Dam,  the  Greek  consul  ?  But  he  does  not  be- 
long to  the  civic  guard !" 

"Who  said  anything  to  the  contrary?  O  Pas- 
cal ..  .  lamb !    It*s  Van  Frans." 

"And  is  that  all  you  know  ?"  asked  a  newcomer,  De 
Zater,  the  man  who  was  always  gloved.  "What  old 
news !  Here's  something  really  new.  Lucretia,  the 
impregnable  Lucretia  .  .  ." 

"Well,  what  about  her?" 

".  .  .  has  ended  up  by  imitating  her  little  fool 
friends.  .  .  ." 

"With  whom?  .  .  ." 

"With  her  husband's  new  partner,  the  Senor  Vera- 
Pinto,  a  Chilian,  or  Terra-Fuegian,  or  Patagonian;  I 
don't  rightly  know  which !" 

"What!  The  imposter  with  whom  Freddy  Bejard 
is  undertaking  the  transportation  of  emigrants  to  Ar- 
gentina, and  who  proposed  the  cartridge  transaction 
to  him!  Messieurs,  doesn't  this  coincidence  open  up 
new  horizons  to  you,  as  they  say  at  the  Palace  ?" 

"You  don't  maintain  that  the  husband  is  in  con- 
nivance with  his  wife,  do  you?  They  detest  each  other 
too  much  for  that !" 

"Humph!  Self-interest  would  bring  them  to- 
gether. .  .  ." 

"And  their  downfall  is  thus  doubly  warded  off.  For 
I  suppose  you  know  that  Papa  Dobouziez  is  selling  his 
share  of  the  factory,  and  even  his  house.  .  .  .  Hey, 
Tolmech,  what's  the  quotation  on  metals  ?" 

"What  are  you  trumpeting  there?    Old  Dobouziez, 


2o8  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

that  rigid  knave,  that  get  yourself  out  as  best  you 
can;  sacrifice  himself  for  some  one  else!  For  Be- 
jardr 

"So !  Perhaps  you've  all  just  come  from  the  moon, 
eh?  There  has  been  nothing  else  talked  of  but  this 
liquidation  since  early  this  morning,  in  the  ofifices,  on 
the  street-cars,  at  the  harbor.  .  .  ." 

"Daelmans-Deynze  is  to  become  the  proprietor  of 
the  factory.  Old  Saint-Fardier  is  also  quitting  the 
manufacture  of  candles.  He  is  dropping  the  father- 
in-law  in  order  to  become  the  son-in-law's  silent  part- 
ner. Saint-Fardier  is  to  replace  Dupoissy,  who  lacks 
'punch,'  in  the  office  of  enlistment  for  America,  and 
he  will  take  charge  of  the  internal  arrangements  of  the 
ships.  There  are  thousands  and  thousands  of  francs 
waiting  to  be  earned.  They've  announced  the  next 
departure  of  the  Gina  with  five  hundred  heads." 

"Instead  of  ebony,  Bejard  is  setting  out  to  sell 
ivory,"  concluded  De  Zater  archly. 

"By  the  way,  De  Maes,  I'll  take  up  those  consols  of 
yours,  whenever  they're  due.  .  .  ." 

"Dobouziez  consented  to  remain  as  manager  at  the 
salary  of  a  cabinet  minister,  so  the  cashier  at  the  fac- 
tory told  me.  .  .  ." 

"Two  words.  Monsieur  De  Zater,  about  the  oils. 
Shall  I  buy,  or  sell?" 

"Sell!  You  are  pretty  green,  Tobiel!  Telegraph 
without  delay  to  Marseilles,  and  take  on  all  you  can 
get  hold  of.  .  .  ." 

"And  that  deal  in  coffee;  I'm  sending  two  hundred 
bales  to  Brand  Brothers,  of  Hamburg,  on  the  Feld- 
marschall,  and  at  the  same  time,  I've  told  my  broker 
to  buy  leathers  with  the  proceeds.  .  .  ." 

"Gentlemen,  I  hare  the  honor  .  .  .  De  Zater,  I'm  at 


THE  STOCK  EXCHANGE  209 

your  service.  .  .  .  You  were  talking  about  the  great 
self-denial  of  Dobouziez?" 

"No,  that's  too  much  for  me !  .  .  .  One  isn't  hon- 
est to  that  point." 

"Honest !"  sneered  Brullekens,  the  maniac  who  had 
his  small  change  cleaned  every  morning;  "you  would 
use  another  word,  eh,  Fuchskopf  ?" 

"That  Taelmans-Teynze,  vot  a  queer  chap  he  iss! 
An  artist!  Dummes  Zeugl  hauler  Schweinerei! 
Yes,  you're  lying!" 

"Always  explicit,  these  Teutons!  .  .  .  But,  De 
Zater,  to  come  back  to  Lucretia  and  her  admirer  .  .  ." 

"What  is  that  cartridge  transaction  ?" 

"Some  highway  robbery  at  the  least !" 

"Not  bad,  that!" 

"Well,  this  is  what  it  is :  Bejard,  the  unique  Bejard, 
himself  and  always  himself,  has  just  bought  from  the 
last  Chilian  dictator,  and  through  the  agency  of  and 
in  partnership  with  Senor  Vera-Pinto,  a  balance  of 
fifty  million  cartridges,  withdrawn  from  use  as  a  con- 
sequence of  the  reforms  of  their  armament.  It  ap- 
pears that  the  worthy  pair  of  friends  acquired  these 
refuse  munitions  for  a  song.  .  .  .  But  our  clever  Be- 
jard counts  on  selling  separately  the  powder,  fulmin- 
ate, lead  and  copper  that  he  will  get  out  of  those  cart- 
ridges, and  realizing  on  the  deal  the  neat  profit  of 
over  five  hundred  per  cent." 

"A  stroke  of  genius!"  decided  all  these  players  of 
neat  strokes,  with  as  much  admiration  as  envy;  they 
were  constantly  on  the  scent  of  an  opportunity  to  make 
fortunes  over  night,  but  never  had  such  a  simple  means 
occurred  to  them.  Decidedly,  Bejard  might  be  a 
scoundrel,  but  he  was  confoundedly  clever,  and  could 
teach  them  all  a  thing  or  two! 


2IO  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

"Nevertheless,  these  difficulties  remain,"  continued 
Brullekens.  "To  bring  that  colossal  lot  of  cartridges 
here  isn't  all.  It  is  necessary  to  declare  them  at  the 
customs-house,  and  then  obtain  the  city's  consent  to 
unload  such  a  formidable  cargo,  amounting  to  between 
two  hundred  and  two  hundred  and  fifty  kilos  of  pow- 
der; that  is  to  say,  enough  to  explode  the  whole  of 
Antwerp  and  its  forts.  The  Regency  will  hesitate  all 
the  more  in  such  a  litigious  affair  since  Bergmans, 
the  vigilant  agitator,  Bejard's  bitterest  enemy,  having 
got  wind  of  his  intrigue,  has  not  stopped  intimidating 
the  Magistrate,  and  threatens  Bejard  and  his  marvel- 
lous enterprise  with  the  terrors  of  the  anger  of  the 
harbor  dockers,  who  have  not  yet  forgotten  the  affair 
of  the  elevators.  As  unpopular  as  he  is,  Bejard  has 
offset  Bergmans'  fiery  assaults  by  reminding  the  river- 
side population,  who  are  usually  in  want,  of  the  easy 
and  lucrative  work  that  his  industry  will  procure  them. 

"He  has  promised  the  city  administration  to  extract 
a  thousand  kilos  of  powder  from  the  cartridges  every 
day,  so  that  the  business  will  be  finished  at  the  end  of 
nine  months.  Moreover,  he  has  bound  himself  to  fur- 
nish all  guarantees,  and  to  conform  to  whatever  pre- 
cautionary measures  the  authorities  impose.  And  you'll 
see — at  heart  I  hope  so,  for  the  deal  is  too  sublime — 
that  that  devil  of  a  fellow  will  overcome  all  the  ob- 
stacles raised  up  against  him,  and  he  will  again  make 
a  fool  of  the  city,  the  province,  the  government,  Berg- 
mans' thunderbolts,  and  even  the  vox  popuUT 

A  movement  evidencing  itself  from  group  to  group 
near  the  west  entry  of  the  Exchange,  near  the  corner 
in  which  were  located  the  stock  brokers  and  specula- 
tors, put  an  end  to  this  edifying  conversation.  The 
loud  outbursts  of  a  bitter  argument  outvoiced  the  usual 


THE  STOCK  EXCHANGE  211 

psalmody.  The  tumult  and  pushing  became  so  great 
that  the  wealthy  Verbist,  supreme  admiral  of  a  fleet 
of  twenty  merchant  vessels,  deigned  to  inquire  of  his 
broker  the  cause  of  the  commotion. 

"What  is  it  all  about,  Claessens?" 

"A  shark  whom  they're  calling  for  his  margins, 
sir.    They  say  he's  a  pretty  hard  case !" 

Verbist,  his  face  puffed  and  bloated,  wan  as  a  drop- 
sical star,  smiled  lugubriously,  shrugged  his  shoulders 
in  a  singular  way,  and,  as  a  spectator  who  was  ac- 
customed to  this  species  of  execution,  and  who  no 
longer  bothered  about  the  bankrupts  among  his  col- 
leagues, did  not  ask  the  name  of  the  hapless  specula- 
tor, but  continued  to  pick  his  teeth  with  the  greatest 
possible  comfort. 

It  was,  however,  the  gentle,  suave,  unique  Dupoissy 
who  was  being  so  sharply  taken  to  task.  Chance  had 
willed  it  that  he  was  to  completely  wreck  himself  on 
the  very  day  that  Bejard,  his  master  and  employer, 
was  victoriously  doubling  the  cape  of  ruin. 

His  intimacy  with  Bejard  had  given  him  faith  in  his 
own  star.  And  the  satellite  had  believed  himself  a 
planet.  He  had  taken  himself  for  an  eagle,  merely  be- 
cause he  was  volatile,  had  wished  to  fly  with  his  own 
wings.  On  the  day  that  rumors  of  Bejard's  imminent 
discomfiture  began  to  circulate,  Dupoissy  had  dropped 
him  with  the  ease  of  a  lackey.  Moreover,  Bejard,  hav- 
ing been  apprised  of  the  slimy  creature's  treason,  did 
nothing  to  retain  him. 

During  Bejard's  prosperity,  Dupoissy  had  obtained 
large  commissions,  and  he,  who  had  never  before  had 
a  penny  to  his  name,  either  in  his  own  country  or  else- 
where, found  himself  in  possession  of  a  quite  consider- 
able capital.     Instead  of  establishing  himself,  for  in- 


212  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

stance,  in  the  woollen  or  drapery  business,  in  which 
he  claimed  his  competency  was  unrivalled,  he  risked 
all  he  possessed  in  aleatory  and  long-winded  ventures. 
While  Bejard  stood  over  him,  the  gambler  profited  by 
his  advice  and  quit  the  game,  if  not  without  profit,  at 
least  without  serious  losses.  But,  abandoned  to  his 
own  initiative,  he  allowed  himself  to  be  thoroughly 
trimmed.  Things  came  to  such  a  pass  that  he  neg- 
lected the  most  elementary  precautions;  he  hardly 
even  asked  the  state  of  the  market.  Persuaded  of  his 
own  genius,  he  speculated  indiscriminately  in  foreign 
exchange,  in  metals,  in  public  funds  and  industrial 
stocks.  For  a  while  he  had  been  able  to  discount  his 
notes  and  to  continue  his  short  sales;  then,  one  alter 
another,  the  bankers  had  refused  him  credit,  and,  with 
the  exception  of  a  few  pigeons  who  were  taken  in 
by  his  sweet  and  oily  manner,  his  hypocritical  talk,  his 
air  of  respectability,  and  who,  taking  his  jeremiads  for 
truth,  thought  him  a  victim  of  Bejard,  he  had  no  one  to 
guarantee  his  signature  but  a  few  freebooters  as  badly 
rated  as  himself. 

The  forbearance  by  which  he  had  formerly  benefited 
was  now  costing  him  dear. 

It  happened  that  the  day  was  one  of  huge  liquida- 
tion on  the  Exchange.  The  speculator,  at  the  end  of 
his  resources,  had  spent  the  morning  in  running  from 
ofBce  to  office,  without  finding  anyone  who  would  lend 
him  a  penny.  That  did  not  at  all  deter  him  from  show- 
ing himself  on  the  Exchange,  exactly  as  usual,  shin- 
ing, curly,  mild,  greeting  everyone  hypocritically  and 
pretending  not  to  notice  the  rebuffs  and  affronts  that 
he  met  with.  Spying  one  of  his  partners  whom  he  had 
properly  fleeced,  he  greeted  him  with  his  most  capti- 
vating smile,  and  began  to  converse  with  him,  in  a 


THE  STOCK  EXCHANGE  213 

sweetish  voice  and  with  enveloping  gestures,  about  a 
superlatively  splendid  (he  liked  those  words)  deal  that 
was  to  make  them  both  rich. 

This  time  he  was  unlucky. 

"I  wouldn^t  ask  anything  better  than  to  go  in  on  a 
new  deal  with  you,"  the  man  answered;  "but  first,  if 
you  don^t  mind,  we'll  settle  the  little  matter  of  the 
French  bonds.  You  know  what  I  mean.  For  three 
months  you  have  put  off  paying  up  that  little  baga- 
telle!'' 

Dupoissy  was  still  smiling  as  he  replied: 

"Why,  of  course !  Willingly,  my  dear  fellow !  .  .  . 
I  was  just  about  to  ask  you  to  stop  in  and  see  me  this 
evening.  ...  I  only  spoke  to  you  about  the  new  deal 
because  it  is  closely  connected  with  the  one  we  have 
just  finished; — so  closely  that  we  could  very  easily 
combine  them,  I  tell  you.  .  .  ." 

"Excuse  me,"  interrupted  the  other;  "all  that  isn't 
necessary.  I've  had  enough  of  your  continual  com- 
binations. Before  I  go  in  with  you  on  any  more  deals, 
I'd  like  to  see  the  color  of  your  money.  .  .  ." 

"Monsieur  Vlarding!"  exclaimed  Dupoissy,  giving 
himself  the  air  of  an  irreproachable  man  whose  senti- 
ments have  been  outraged. 

"Tut,  tut !  Don't  'Monsieur  Vlarding*  me !  All  that 
has  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter  in  hand.  You  are 
going  to  pay  me  two  thousand  francs  right  now,  in 
exchange  for  this  receipt !" 

"But,  my  dear  old  friend,  what  a  way  to  act,  after 
all  these  years  of  mutual  confidence!" 

"A  truce  to  your  protestations.  I  have  but  one  word 
to  say  to  you :  pagare,  pagarei" 

"And  I  repeat  to  you  that  I  haven't  so  much  money 
about  me  I"  muttered  Dupoissy  in  an  undertone,  squeez- 


214  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

ing  his  companion's  arm.  "For  heaven's  sake,  calm 
down  ...  we  are  being  overheard !" 

A  circle  of  people  was,  in  fact,  beginning  to  form 
around  them.  To  the  usual  idle  onlooking  was  added 
a  malignant  curiosity,  the  expectation  of  a  scuffle. 

And  the  more  Dupoissy  tried  to  wheedle  Vlarding, 
the  more  did  Vlarding  yell: 

"For  the  last  time.  Monsieur  Dupoissy,  are  you 
ready  to  pay  me  the  two  thousand  francs  you  owe  me  ?" 

"When  I  have  them !"  let  fly  Dupoissy,  decidedly  at 
his  wits'  end. 

Vlarding  jumped  like  a  burned  dog. 

"What  are  you  saying?"  he  cried  in  the  face  of  the 
insolvent  debtor. 

Other  dupes  now  joined  the  chorus  with  Vlarding. 
Each  one  was  claiming  his  debt. 

"Will  pay!  Won't  pay,"  chanted  the  crowd  hilar- 
iously, stamping  with  fierce  joy. 

"Messieurs,  my  good  sirs,  let  me  go,  I  beg  you! 
I'm  a  French  citizen,  and  I  shall  call  my  country's  con- 
sul.    It's  an  indignity  .  .  ." 

"Have  you  finished?"  jeered  the  young  Saint-Far- 
diers.  "Shame  upon  the  deserter!  Shame  upon  the 
man  of  Sedan!  Shut  your  trap!  To  the  door  with 
him!" 

But  the  creditors  were  getting  angry  and  threaten- 
ing him  with  their  fists,  canes  and  umbrellas.  Vlard- 
ing has  just  knocked  his  hat  off. 

"No!  No!  No  violence!"  the  majority  of  the  on- 
lookers interposed  hypocritically.  "Let  the  pleasure 
last!" 

Trembling  with  fear,  haggard,  livid,  perspiration 
and  melting  pommade  rolling  down  his  forehead  and 
ears,  the  big  man  did  not  budge.    But,  not  having  the 


THE  STOCK  EXCHANGE  215 

luck  of  a  polecat,  his  odor  did  not  keep  his  enemies 
at  a  distance !  How  should  he  escape  from  their  com- 
bined efforts?  The  signal  had  been  given.  They 
would  not  hit  him ;  they  confined  themselves  to  jostling 
him.  The  game  had  rules  consecrated  by  many  earlier 
precedents.  More  than  one  dishonest  speculator  had 
been  served  in  the  same  way.  Their  hands  plunged 
in  their  pockets,  the  tyrants  used  only  their  elbows, 
knees  and  backs.  Just  so  do  the  waves  roll  and  cast 
about  a  castaway,  tormenting  him  everywhere,  and 
pitch  him  from  one  to  the  other,  doing  him  the  least 
possible  injury. 

Dupoissy  was  indeed  a  shipv/recked  man ! 

He  was  whirled  from  right  to  left,  pitched  for  a 
moment  or  two  in  one  direction,  then  tacked  about 
fantastically.  Hardly  had  one  crowd  of  his  torturers 
flung  him  forth  than  another  shoved  him  back. 
Again,  he  stood  motionless,  torn  between  two  cur- 
rents of  equal  force,  almost  reduced  to  pulp,  three- 
quarters  exhausted.  Those  who  were  nearest  him  took 
the  risk  of  sharing  his  fate. 

"Stop!  Not  so  hard!"  they  cried  to  their  com- 
rades. 

A  carnivorous  joy  fed  upon  his  distress.  A  single 
cruel  emotion  possessed  these  hundreds  of  brokers 
venting  themselves  upon  an  unskillful  gambler,  as  if 
they  were  college  boys  hazing  a  butt.  And,  as  is 
usually  the  case,  those  most  in  debt  and  most  suspected 
were  the  leaders  of  the  orgy. 

Gouty  millionaires  were  represented  by  their  brok- 
ers or  heirs. 

The  policemen  watched  discreetly.  As  long  as  the 
victim^s  skin  was  uninjured,  and  they  limited  the  sport 
to  jostling  him,  the  policemen  had  no  authority  to  in- 


2i6  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

terfere.  Tradition  allowed  the  assembled  business 
men  to  punish  a  defaulting  speculator  in  this  fash- 
ion. 

Between  the  arcades  of  the  first  floor,  leaning  upon 
the  balustrades  of  the  balcony,  hanging  over  this  ver- 
itable arena,  the  little  messenger  boys  were  making 
merry,  not  without  evincing  some  astonishment  at  the 
sight  of  bearded  and  usually  well-regulated  person- 
ages playing  pranks  like  rogues  of  their  own  age. 
And  they  were  racked  by  a  desire  to  go  down  into 
the  crowd  and  participate  in  the  savory  sport.  But, 
notwithstanding  the  fact  that  the  placid  policemen 
would  not  have  granted  them  the  immunity  accorded 
to  the  brokers,  a  feeling  of  terror  and  pity  found  its 
way  into  the  hearts  of  the  boys;  they  still  looked  on, 
wide-eyed,  but  they  had  stopped  laughing. 

The  rough  boatmen,  so  prone  to  buffet  each  other, 
were  petrified  with  amazement  at  the  "fashionable  gen- 
tlemen's" unchained  fury,  and  forgot  to  puff  at  their 
short  pipes  or  even  to  chew  their  quids. 

None  of  Dupoissy's  former  friends,  none  of  the 
hosts  who  had  in  other  days  entertained  him  at  their 
tables,  ran  to  his  rescue.  The  more  tender-hearted 
among  them,  seeing  what  a  critical  turn  the  altercation 
between  Dupoissy  and  his  creditors  had  taken,  had 
prudently  stolen  away,  either  for  fear  of  being  mixed 
up  in  the  scandal,  or  to  spare  themselves  the  sight  of 
so  painful  a  scene. 

During  a  raging  storm  a  fishing  smack  tries  to  thread 
its  way  through  the  narrow  mouth  of  the  harbor.  The 
skiff  vainly  strives  to  make  its  way,  but  each  time  the 
helm  bears  it  into  the  drift  or  threatens  to  break  it 
against  the  sea-wall.  The  human  hurricane  ensnared 
the  pitiable  Sedanese  in  just  such  a  fashion,  and  drew 


THE  STOCK  EXCHANGE  217 

him  near  one  of  the  doors  of  safety  only  to  send  him 
reeling  inside,  and  in  so  doing  shattered  him  almost  to 
pieces  against  the  columns. 

When,  after  many  vicissitudes  and  a  prolonged 
agony,  a  strong  propulsion  sent  him  flying  for  a  twen- 
tieth time  toward  the  entrance,  a  late-comer  pushed 
open  the  padded  door. 

"Hold  the  door  open,  Bejard!"  roared  Saint-Far- 
dier,  senior,  who  had  enjoyed  the  game  as  much  as  an 
Oxford  lad  enjoys  a  football  match,  as  he  mopped  his 
face. 

Expensively  clad,  buttoned  into  an  overcoat  of  irre- 
proachable cut,  a  flower  in  his  buttonhole,  haughtier, 
more  poised  and  more  the  leader  than  ever,  Bejard 
realized  the  situation,  and,  having  nothing  more  in 
common  with  his  former  creature,  wishing  above  all 
to  show  that  he  had  utterly  repudiated  him,  he  cere- 
moniously did  as  he  had  been  told. 

Drawing  himself  close  up  to  the  wall,  he  flung  the 
door  wide  to  let  the  victim  pass.  His  face  shone  with 
a  Satanic  joy.  Truly,  he  was  a  pretty  sight,  this  mean 
coward ! 

On  his  part,  Dupoissy  recognized  his  former  as- 
sociate. To  be  mauled  about  before  him  was  the  last 
straw,  the  supreme  opprobrium.  Frankly,  he  did  not 
merit  this  excess  of  ignominy.  He  concentrated  all 
that  he  had  left  of  energy,  fire  and  vital  force  in  one 
look  of  cruel  malice,  a  mute  imprecation.  A  toad, 
crushed  by  a  clodhopper's  boot,  must  dart  forth  such 
a  look  as  he  gave.  Bejard  never  flinched  beneath  his 
fluid  vindictiveness.  On  the  contrary,  nothing  could 
have  flattered  him  more.  Just  as  a  final  push  was 
speeding  Dupoissy's  flight,  and  he  swept  past  Deputy 
Bejard  with  the  speed  of  a  projectile,  the  latter  made 


2i8  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

the  profound  bow  of  a  notary  who  receives  an  import- 
ant visitor. 

Dupoissy  rolled  like  a  torn  package  into  the  middle 
of  the  street,  between  the  two  sidewalks.  Bejard  saw 
him  pick  himself  up,  dust  himself,  and  take  himself 
off,  like  a  slug,  keeping  close  to  the  walls  of  the  houses. 

Then,  slowly  and  accurately,  without  paying  any 
further  attention  to  the  derelict,  the  great  man  released 
the  swinging  door,  and  entered  the  temple  where  he 
was  being  awaited  by  the  felicitations  and  the  homage 
of  a  mob  ready  to  treat  him  as  they  had  treated  Du- 
poissy on  the  day  that  Fortune  should  cease  to  so 
patiently  choose  him  as  her  favorite. 


PART  III 
LAURENT  PARIDAEL 


THE  PATRIMONY 

Laurent  had  just  attained  his  majority,  and  the 
manager  of  the  factory  had  written  him  a  strictly  po- 
lite letter  asking  him  to  call  in  at  the  office.  Laurent 
found  his  guardian  just  as  he  had  left  him  four  years 
before,  at  least  in  respect  to  his  manner,  his  bearing 
and  his  greeting.  His  smooth,  impassive  face  was 
slightly  wrinkled,  his  hair  had  become  white,  and  he 
held  his  commanding  head  a  little  less  high.  On  the 
desk,  which  the  unlucky  Swiss  Family  Robinson  had 
disgraced  years  before,  were  placed  a  sheaf  of  bank- 
notes and  a  sheet  of  paper  covered  with  figures  aligned 
in  columns. 

The  manufacturer,  always  the  man  of  business, 
hardly  replied  to  the  "Good  morning,  cousin!"  which 
Laurent  was  trying  to  make  as  respectful  and  affection- 
ate as  possible. 

"Kindly  take  notice  of  this  sheet  of  paper  and  verify 
the  exactitude  of  the  figures.  It  sets  forth  my  ac- 
count of  my  stewardship;  on  the  one  hand  your  in- 
come ;  on  the  other,  the  expenses  of  your  maintenance 
and  education.  You  will  concede  that  I  have  abstained, 
as  far  as  possible,  from  making  any  inroads  upon  your 
little  capital.    'When  you  have  examined  it,  if  you  are 

221 


222  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

satisfied,  I  beg  that  you  will  sign  here.  .  .  .  You  may 
have  a  duplicate  of  it.  .  .  ." 

Laurent  made  a  movement  to  seize  the  pen  and  sign 
immediately. 

Monsieur  Dobouziez  caught  his  arm,  and  said,  in 
his  even  voice :  "None  of  that !  .  .  .  You'll  only  dis- 
please me.  ,  .  .  Look  it  through,  first." 

Since  he  felt  that  v^ay  about  it,  Laurent  sat  down  at 
the  desk  and  pretended  to  attentively  look  over  the  ac- 
count of  transactions.  While  waiting,  his  guardian 
turned  his  back  upon  him  and  looked  out  the  window, 
strumming  upon  the  pane. 

Laurent  did  not  dare  make  too  short  work  of  his 
sham  verification.  He  waited  ^yq.  minutes,  then  risked 
attracting  his  relative's  attention. 

"It  is  absolutely  perfect,  cousin  1'^ 

And  he  hastened  to  affix  his  best  signature  to  this 
paper,  drawn  up  so  distinctly  and  with  such  minute  de- 
tail. 

Dobouziez  came  back  to  the  desk,  blotted  the  re- 
ceipted sheet,  and  locked  it  in  a  drawer. 

"Good !  There  is  due  you  thirty  two  thousand,  eight 
hundred  francs.  Kindly  see  whether  this  is  the  cor- 
rect amount.'* 

Vexed  and  chagrined,  Laurent  started  to  pocket  the 
bills  and  the  gold  pell-mell. 

"Count  it,  first,"  said  Dobouziez,  stopping  him. 

The  young  man  again  obeyed,  even  counted  out  loud ; 
then,  choking,  before  he  came  to  the  end  of  his  reckon- 
ing, he  pushed  away  the  neatly  piled  bills  and  cash 
with  an  abrupt  gesture. 

"What's  the  matter?    Is  there  an  error?" 

The  ferociously  honest  man ! 

Laurent  would  have  liked  to  say  to  him :  "Keep  this 


THE  PATRIMONY  223 

money,  guardian.  .  .  .  Place  it  yourself.  I  don't  need 
it,  and  will  only  spend  it;  it  will  get  away  from  me 
because  I  am  not  used  to  it.  While  you  are  the  man 
to  manage  and  make  use  of  it  as  it  should  be 
done.  .  .  ." 

But  he  was  afraid  that  the  proud  Dobouziez,  accus- 
tomed to  playing  with  millions,  would  accept  such  an 
offer  of  his  laughable  capital,  the  legacy  of  the  late 
Paridael,  that  poor  clerk,  as  an  insulting  familiarity. 

And  yet  with  what  good  will  Paridael,  junior,  would 
have  lent,  or  even  given,  the  savings  of  the  defunct 
clerk  to  this  employer  of  yesterday,  himself  become, 
in  his  turn,  a  clerk. 

"Come,  hurry  up!"  repeated  Dobouziez  in  an  icy 
tone,  after  having  consulted  his  watch. 

Laurent  was  compelled  to  take  his  money.  He  still 
delayed  going  to  the  door :  "At  least,  cousin,  allow  me 
to  thank  you  and  to  ask  you  .  .  ."  he  mumbled,  push- 
ing his  conciliation  to  the  point  of  repenting  his  in- 
voluntary wrongs  and  reproaching  himself  for  the 
antipathy  he  had  inspired,  in  spite  of  himself,  in  the 
sage. 

"All  right!    All  right!" 

And  the  imperturbable  gesture  and  expression  of 
Dobouziez  continued  to  repeat :  "I  have  done  my  duty, 
and  I  don't  need  anyone's  gratitude !" 

The  transaction  had  been  exact.  The  inheritance 
had  been  administered  in  an  irreproachable  manner. 
The  result  had  been  foreseen.  Everything  was  fore- 
seen ! 

But  the  rational  Dobouziez  did  not  expect  the 
anomalous  way  in  which  the  orphan  was  soon  to  testify 
his  gratitude !  He  forgot,  this  perfect  calculator,  that 
certain    problems    are    capable    of    many    solutions, 


224  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

Otherwise  he  would  perhaps  have  called  back  the  young 
man  whom  he  was  dismissing  so  categorically,  and 
would  have  said  to  him :  "So  be  it,  unfortunate  child ! 
Leave  me  your  little  hoard,  and  above  all  never  con- 
sider yourself  the  debtor  of  Gina  and  her  father,  the 
fated  avenger  of  my  daughter.  .  .  /' 

Neither  did  Laurent  suspect,  at  that  moment,  what 
was  going  to  happen,  but,  nevertheless,  he  felt  a  dumb 
and  thick  distress  rising  in  his  heart.  Before  coming 
to  the  factory,  he  had  rejoiced  in  the  idea  of  becoming 
his  own  master,  of  possessing  a  real  capital,  almost  a 
fortune!  .  .  .  And  now  that  he  held  these  bank- 
notes and  this  gold,  they  were  burning  his  pocket  and 
disturbing  him  as  if  they  did  not  belong  to  him. 
Really,  a  thief  could  be  no  more  anxious  than  this 
gentleman  of  independent  means. 

He  had  been  confident  and  cheerful  after  a  different 
fashion  the  last  time  he  had  parted  company  with  his 
guardian.  What  illusions  and  what  hopes  had  he  not 
cherished,  then!  With  the  hundred  francs  that  he 
drew  every  month  he  had  thought  himself  the  richest 
of  mortals,  and  now  that  his  fortune  was  figured  in 
thousands  of  francs,  he  had  never  been  at  such  an  utter 
loss  to  know  what  to  do  with  himself,  so  undecided,  nor 
had  his  mind  ever  been  so  agitated. 

Arrived  in  the  street,  the  Ditch  seemed  to  him  to  be 
exhaling  a  prophetic  miasma:  the  Ditch  itself  was 
turning  against  him !  Paridael  scented  occult  menaces 
in  these  emanations,  but  without  being  able  to  decipher 
their  vague  presage.  While  waiting,  his  ill-humor  re- 
bounded upon  the  manufacturer. 

"What  an  iceberg!"  he  murmured,  feeling  a  shock 
in  every  affectionate  fibre.  "He  received  me  as  if  I 
were  the  vilest  of  criminals.    At  the  end,  if  I  had  not 


THE  PATRIMONY  225 

contained  myself,  I  should  have  thrown  the  dirty 
money  in  his  face  ...  the  dirty  money  !'* 

And  feeling  very  lonely,  very  much  abandoned, 
afraid  of  himself  and  dreading  his  first  tete-a-tete  with 
his  heavy  fortune,  the  idea  came  to  him  to  visit  the 
Tilbaks,  so  that  he  might  dispel  his  black  thoughts. 

The  other  time,  too,  he  had  gone  to  them  immedi- 
ately after  leaving  the  factory.  Immediately  regain- 
ing his  self-possession,  his  serenity  half  recovered,  he 
hurried  along.  As  he  walked  he  conjured  up  the  vivi- 
fying and  salubrious  environment  in  which  he  was 
going  to  gain  renewed  vigor. 

For  some  time  past  he  had  been  neglecting  his  good 
friends.  Honorable  scruples  were  the  cause  of  this 
apparent  indifference.  Henriette  was  no  longer  the 
same  toward  him;  not  that  her  affection  for  him  had 
grown  less, — quite  to  the  contrary — but  there  was 
something  febrile  and  constrained  in  her  manner  that 
made  him  think,  without  being  in  the  least  fatuous,  that 
he  was  the  object  of  a  more  vibrant  feeling  than  mere 
fraternal  friendship.  But,  incapable  of  forgetting  the 
superb  Gina,  Laurent  feared  to  nourish  this  passion, 
for  which  he  could  see  no  hope,  for  he  would  have 
killed  himself  rather  than  abuse  the  confidence  which 
Siska  and  Vincent  placed  in  him. 

But  today,  as  he  wended  his  way  toward  The  Cocoa- 
nut  and  his  spirit  succumbed  to  a  gracious  reaction, 
the  image  of  Henriette  appeared  sweeter  and  more 
touching  than  ever,  and,  at  this  evocation,  he  expe- 
rienced, or  at  least  encouraged  himself  to  experience, 
an  inclination  toward  her  less  quiet  and  less  platonic 
than  in  the  past.  Why  had  he  wandered  for  so  long? 
He  held  happiness  in  his  hand.  He  could  inaugurate 
his  new  life  and  break  with  his  old  associations  in  no 


226  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

better  way  than  by  marrying  the  upright  and  whole- 
some daughter  of  the  Tilbaks. 

The  state  of  mind  into  which  his  interview  with 
Dobouziez  had  plunged  him  contributed  to  accelerate 
this  resolution.  Nothing  seemed  to  him  more  reason- 
able and  more  realizable.  Her  parents'  consent  he 
had  in  advance.  They  would  publish  the  banns  im- 
mediately. 

Caressing  these  matrimonial  perspectives,  he  came 
to  The  Cocoanut,  and,  crossing  the  shop,  entered  di- 
rectly, like  a  familiar  friend,  into  the  room  at  the 
back.  He  found  all  the  members  of  the  family  to- 
gether, but  was  struck  by  their  melancholy  erpressions. 
Before  he  had  time  to  ask  for  an  explanation,  Vincent 
drew  him  into  the  front  room,  and  after  a  fit  of  ner- 
vous coughing,  said  in  a  throaty  voice: 

"It's  decided.  Monsieur  Lorki!  We  are  going  to 
emigrate ;  we  are  leaving  for  Buenos  Aires." 

Laurent  thought  he  would  drop. 

"But,  my  good  Vincent,  you're  losing  your  wits!" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it !  It's  a  very  serious  matter.  I  took 
passage  this  morning  at  Monsieur  Bejard's,  on  the 
quai  Sainte-Aldegonde.  We're  going  to  sail.  For 
months  the  idea  has  been  running  around  in  my  head. 
There  is  nothing  left  for  us  to  attempt  here.  The 
shop  doesn't  pay  any  longer.  Bread  is  rare  with  us 
now! 

"The  business  has  been  spoiled.  What  with  the 
runners  who  seize  upon  the  sailors  at  the  mouth  of 
the  Scheldt  and  drag  him,  drunk  and  besotted,  to  their 
dark  cellars  where  they  skin  him  and  fleece  him  to  the 
marrow,  the  little  shopkeeper  has  to  give  up  the  strug- 
gle. .  .  .  Unless  he  wants  to  consort  with  them,  use 
their  methods  and  fi^ht  with  them  over  the  prey  with 


THE  PATRIMONY  227 

fists  and  knives !  I'd  as  lief  join  a  band  of  downright 
thieves ! 

"And  then,  too,  the  invention  of  steam  lighters  has 
forced  me  to  sell  my  boat  for  kindling  wood.  And,  to 
finish  the  matter,  here  are  our  sons  who  can  no  longer 
find  positions.  The  heads  of  the  big  firms  here  en- 
gage only  Germans.  The  best  disposed  toward  their 
poor  fellow-citizens,  for  example,  Daelmans-Deynze 
and  Bergmans,  are  besieged  with  demands  and 
have  already  taken  on  more  than  twice  as  many 
employees  as  they  need !  As  a  special  favor  they  have 
been  willing  to  take  on  our  Felix.  And  they  are  talk- 
ing of  sending  him  to  their  Hamburg  branch.  We 
should  have  to  wait  until  a  place  became  vacant  for 
Pierket.  But  between  now  and  then  we  have  plenty 
of  time  to  starve.  .  .  .  You  can  see  that  if  s  the  end. 
Antwerp  doesn't  want  us  any  more.  So  we  have  made 
up  our  minds  to  leave — all  of  us !  And,  if  we  must  die, 
at  least  we  shall  have  struggled  valiantly  until  the  last 
effort  to  live !  .  .  ." 

And  Vincent  forced  back,  with  a  frightful  oath,  the 
emotion  that  was  strangling  him. 

"No,  no !"  cried  Laurent,  clapping  him  on  the  Back 
to  comfort  him.  "You  shall  not  go,  my  brave  old  Vin- 
cent !  And  I  doubly  bless  the  inspiration  that  brought 
me  here !  Since  this  morning  I  have  become  rich,  my 
dear  man !  I  have  more  than  enough  to  help  you  and 
yours.  I  have  more  than  thirty  thousand  francs  at 
your  command,  dear  friend.  You  never  suspected  me 
of  it,  I  suppose.  Very  well,  then !  Come,  come,  cease 
your  lamenting.  .  .  .  But  before  going  back  to  Siska 
and  the  children,  let  me  complete  the  project.  The 
money  which  it  would  be  repugnant  to  you  to  accept 
at  the  hands  of  a  friend,  you  will  be  forced  to  take 


228  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

from  a  son,  yes,  from  a  son — ^has  not  Siska  always 
considered  me  as  her  eldest? — or,  if  it  pleases  you  bet- 
ter, from  a  son-in-law.  .  .  .  Vincent,  give  me  the 
hand  of  your  daughter  Henriette !" 

Tilbak  put  his  hands  upon  Laurent's  shoulders  and 
looked  deeply  into  his  eyes : 

"Thank  you.  Monsieur  Laurent!  Your  generous 
offer  touches  us  no  less  profoundly  than  your  request, 
but  we  cannot  grant  it.  .  .  .  For  a  long  time  past 
my  wife  has  read  our  daughter's  heart  and  struggled 
against  the  unreasonable  feeling  that  is  concealed  there. 
To  hide  nothing  from  you,  that  love  is  itself  one  of 
the  reasons  for  our  departure.  All  of  us,  here,  need 
a  change  of  air.  .  .  . 

"I  tell  you,  also.  Monsieur  Laurent,  that  this  mar- 
riage is  impossible.  Even  were  I  to  consent  to  it,  my 
wife  would  oppose  it  with  all  her  strength.  You  don't 
yet  know  our  Siska!  Her  ideas  of  duty  are  perhaps 
very  singular,  but  very  fixed.  When  once  she  has  said 
that  this  is  white  and  that  is  black,  you  can  preach  to 
her  in  vain,  you  cannot  make  her  retract  it.  .  .  .  Do 
you  know  that  she  would  think  she  were  lacking  in  re- 
spect for  the  memory  of  your  dear  parents  if  she  ever 
were  to  consent  to  an  alliance  between  her  family  and 
yours?  You  are  young,  Monsieur  Laurent,  you  have 
a  nice  little  capital,  you  have  had  a  good  education, 
rich  relatives  may  leave  you  their  fortunes  .  .  .  and 
you  will  make  a  match  worthy  of  that  fortune,  of  your 
education  and  your  name ;  a  match  in  accordance  with 
the  hopes  that  your  poor,  dear,  dead  parents  cherished 
for  your  future.  Can  you  not  see  that  your  wealthy 
family  would  reproach  Siska  for  having  harnessed 
you  to  her  daughter,  would  consider  her  an  intriguer, 
a  wretched  intruder?  .  .  ." 


THE  PATRIMONY  229 

"Vincent  !'*  cried  Laurent,  putting  his  hand  over  Vin- 
cent's mouth.  "Be  sensible,  Vincent.  I  disregard  my 
good  family  entirely !  It  would  be  very  foolish  of  me 
to  refrain  for  the  sake  of  the  few  remaining.  You  will 
finish  by  making  me  hate  them  in  talking  to  me  this 
way !  It's  a  pity  you  were  not  present  to  see  the  wel- 
come I  received  from  that  Dobouziez!  Old  age  and 
disappointments  have  made  him  colder  and  fishier  than 
ever !  I  am  no  longer  one  of  them !  I  wonder  whether 
I  ever  was !  I  owe  them  nothing.  Our  last  links  have 
been  broken.  And  it  is  to  those  relatives  who  deny  me, 
that  you  would  have  me  sacrifice  my  affections  ?  Come, 
come !  Your  refusal  isn't  serious.  .  .  .  Siska  will  be 
more  sensible  than  you." 

"Useless,  Monsieur  Laurent!  If  my  wife  had  fore- 
seen this  love  affair,  she  would  never  have  allowed  you 
here !  Spare  her  the  pain  of  having  to  emphasize  my 
refusal.  .  .  ." 

"So  be  it!"  said  Laurent.  "But  if  my  visits  are  a 
nuisance  to  you,  if  a  false  honor, — ^yes,  I  say  it  advis- 
edly, and  so  much  the  worse  for  you  if  you  take  it 
amiss — prevents  your  accepting  me  as  a  son-in-law, — I 
who  had  hop^d  to  make  your  Henriette  so  happy — ^at 
least  nothing  can  prevent  you  from  accepting  me  as  a 
creditor,  and  then  it  will  be  unnecessary  to  emigrate !" 

"Thank  you  again.  Monsieur  Laurent,  but  we  do 
not  need  it.  To  make  all  plain  to  you,  Jean  Vingerhout, 
the  haes  of  the  America,  and  your  friend,  is  coming 
with  us.  He  has  realized  his  last  cent  and  is  going  to 
try  his  luck  in  a  new  America.  .  .  ." 

"Ah !  I  see  it  clearly,  now !  You  are  going  to  give 
Henriette  to  him  I  .  .  ." 

"Well,  yes !  .  .  .  Jean  is  a  good  chap  in  our  sphere 
whom  you  appreciated  from  the  first.    And  I  must  ask 


230  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

you  a  favor,  Monsieur  Laurent.  Our  friend  has  never 
for  a  moment  suspected  Henriette's  love  for  you.  .  .  . 
Please  let  him  always  remain  ignorant  of  her  extrava- 
gant whim !" 

"That  is  too  much!"  Laurent  interrupted.  "Do  I 
have  to  enter  your  plans  to  the  extent  of  making  your 
daughter  hate  me  ?" 

And  within,  he  was  saying  to  himsef :  "Too  poor  for 
Gina ;  too  rich  for  Henriette !"  Then,  giving  free  rein 
to  his  bitterness : 

"Really,  my  dear  Tilbak,  you  are  all  the  same  here 
in  Antwerp !  You  reduce  everything  to  a  question  of 
greasy  pennies.  My  worthy  cousin  Dobouziez  would 
unreservedly  approve  of  you.  The  ties  of  the  heart 
and  emotions  have  no  weight.  Everything  is  wiped 
out  by  business  considerations.  Gold  alone  joins  and 
sunders.  You  all  have  money-tills  instead  of  hearts. 
There!  Even  you,  the  Tilbaks,  whom  I  have  always 
considered  as  my  own,  are  no  better  than  the  rest! 
And  I  am  destined  to  live  always  alone  and  misunder- 
stood. .  .  .  Eternally  declassed,  a  creature  of  ex- 
ception, I  shall  never  anywhere  find  my  equals,  people 
of  the  same  temperament  as  myself !  .  .  ." 

And,  in  the  clutches  of  a  nervous  crisis  that  had  been 
smouldering  since  that  morning,  his  body  shaking  from 
these  reiterated  emotions,  he  threw  himself  into  a  chair 
and  burst  into  tears  like  a  child. 

Siska,  however,  having  been  attracted  by  the  sound 
of  their  voices,  had  half  opened  the  door  and  heard 
the  end  of  the  conversation.  She  came  to  the  young 
fellow  and  tried  to  calm  him  with  her  motherly  words. 

"You  naughty  child !  What  a  way  to  talk  about  us ! 
Listen  to  me,  my  dear  Laurent,  and  don't  be  angry. 
We'll  talk  this  all  over  again  before  our  departure,  but 


THE  PATRIMONY  231 

not  today.  You  are  too  excited.  Who  knows  ?  Per- 
haps I  can  open  your  eyes  to  your  own  feelings !" 

A  bit  intimidated  by  the  solemn  tone  in  which  the 
good  woman  had  said  these  few  words,  Laurent 
restrained  himself,  and  after  a  desultory  conversation, 
went  into  the  back  room  and  took  leave  of  the  family. 

A  few  days  later  Paridael  came  back  to  the  Til- 
baks*.  Siska  was  valiantly  busying  herself  with  the 
preparations  for  their  departure.  Laurent  having 
asked  her  for  the  promised  explanation,  she  interrupted 
her  work,  and  piercing  him  with  an  inquisitorial  look : 

"What  I  have  to  say  to  you,  Laurent,"  she  said,  "is 
simply  that  you  have  never  loved  Henriette." 

Laurent  tried  to  protest,  but  while  the  clear,  steady 
eyes  of  the  worthy  woman  continued  to  look  into  his 
he  would  only  blush  and  hang  his  head. 

"And  that  because  you  are  in  love  with  another!" 
pursued  Siska.  "I  can  even  tell  you  who  she  is :  your 
cousin  Gin%  become  Madame  Bejard.  You  need  not 
deny  it !  Did  you  think  you  could  hide  that  secret  from 
me  ?  Your  troubled  air  when  anyone  talked  of  Madame 
Bejard;  your  own  affectation  never  to  talk  of  her, 
would  have  revealed  it  to  diviners  less  adroit  than  my- 
self. Yes,  even  Henriette  knew  in  which  direction 
your  real  love  was  tending.  Surely,  you  are  fond  of 
our  daughter.  Under  the  impulse  of  your  generous 
feelings  you  are  even  ready  to  marry  her.  But,  at  bot- 
tom, you  would  have  continued  to  prefer  the  other  one. 
The  memory  of  her  would  have  come  between  Hen- 
riette and  yourself.  And  neither  you  nor  your  wife 
would  have  met  with  the  happiness  you  both  deserve. 
As  soon  as  my  child  suspected  your  passion  for  Mad- 
ame Bejard,  I  succeeded  in  completely  opening  her 
eyes,  and  cured  her  of  her  love  for  you.  .  .  .  Ah!  it 


232  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

was  necessary !  I  should  lie  were  I  to  say  the  cure  was 
easy.  .  .  .  Laurent,  if  you  swear  to  me  that  you 
really  love  Henriette,  and  that  she  is  the  chosen  of 
your  flesh  and  of  your  spirit,  I  am  still  ready  to  give 
her  to  you!  In  doing  otherwise,  I  should  be  twice  a 
bad  mother.  .  .  ." 

For  his  sole  response,  the  boy  threw  his  arms  aljout 
his  clairvoyant  friend  and  confessed  to  her  at  length 
his  contradictory  desires  and  griefs. 


II 

THE  EMIGRANTS 

B^jARD,  Saint-Fardier  and  Vera-Pinto  had  well 
chosen  the  moment  to  begin  their  traffic  in  white  flesh, 
or,  as  De  Zater  called  it,  ivory.  Much  money  was  to  be 
made  in  this  filthy  commerce.  In  their  narrow  offices 
a  continual  procession  was  constantly  marching  by. 
Saint-Fardier  was  in  command,  and  made  the  hordes 
and  tribes  of  poor  devils  run  the  gauntlet.  It  was  he 
who  sent  out  recruiters  to  beat  the  woods  and  drain  the 
land. 

Originating  in  Ireland,  emigration  swept  over  Rus- 
sia, Germany,  and  then  the  north  of  France.  Thou- 
sands of  foreigners  had  already  expatriated  themselves 
before  the  Belgians  were  inoculated  with  the  fever. 
The  contagion  first  spread  among  the  laborers  of  the 
Borinage  and  the  district  about  Charleroi,  coal-miners 
whose  merciless  subterranean  slavery  was  unrelieved 
by  death,  fallen  cyclops,  torn  between  the  intolerance 
of  labor-leaders  and  the  harshness  of  the  capitalists, 
worn  out  by  strikes  and  enforced  idleness,  and,  when 
spared  by  the  fire-damp,  dispatched  by  a  soldier's  bul- 
let. 

And,  after  having  depopulated  the  Walloon,  the 
fever  of  expatriation  consumed  Flanders.  Weavers 
of  Ghent,  their  lungs  clogged  by  the  fine  flues  of  thread, 

233 


234  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

packed  off  to  America  as,  centuries  before,  their  an- 
cestors had  gone  to  England. 

Finally,  the  impulse  spread  to  the  district  about  Ant- 
werp. 

For  a  long  time  past  the  dockers,  working  on  the 
very  banks  of  the  river  from  which  heavy  cargoes  of 
exiles,  penned  up  like  sheep,  were  constantly  depart- 
ing, resisted  the  general  enthusiasm.  Suspicious  and 
skeptical,  they  had  no  desire  to  fatten  with  their  car- 
casses the  land  of  the  celebrated  guano,  after  having 
given  up  their  last  farthing  to  the  emigration  agents, 
whom  they  saw  swelling  and  prospering  all  around 
them,  leeches  fattening  upon  the  blood  of  fools. 

Previously,  the  departure  of  a  peasant  or  of  a  la- 
borer would  have  stupefied  the  whole  quarter  or  the 
whole  parish.  Such  a  thing  would  have  been  consid- 
ered an  act  of  desperation,  an  apostasy,  the  deed  of 
an  unnatural  being.  The  only  people  capable  of  such 
an  act  were  occasional  unskilled  laborers,  farm-hands 
who  had  been  dismissed  everywhere,  riff-raff  who,  no 
longer  knowing  to  which  baes  to  hire  out,  ended,  under 
the  influence  of  a  last  debauch,  by  selling  themselves 
to  the  crimp  who  enlisted  volunteers  for  the  Dutch 
army  in  the  East  Indies. 

But  now  expatriation  began  to  enter  into  the  cus- 
toms of  respectable  people.  By  the  hundreds,  urban 
and  rural  folk,  from  the  banks  of  the  Scheldt,  from 
the  waste  dunes  of  the  Campine,  navvies  from  the 
Polder,  brush-trussers  of  Bruyere,  fled  the  land  as  if 
pursued  by  the  surge  of  an  occult  inundation. 

A  restlessness  beneath  the  ancestral  roof,  a  distrust 
of  the  good  will  of  the  native  land,  a  nomadic  impa- 
tience, an  instinctive  need  for  change  penetrated  and 
consumed  the  most  distant  and  lonely  localities. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  235 

The  same  pioneers  who  never,  never  would  have 
changed  their  labor,  no  matter  how  fruitless  and  pain- 
ful, for  a  lucrative  position  in  the  city,  suffered  over- 
night the  vertigo  of  exodus  and  exiled  themselves  in 
masses. 

How  many,  however,  of  these  inveterate  dwellers 
on  the  land,  their  bodies  bent  almost  double  over  the 
bare  earth,  more  obdurate  at  home  than  anywhere 
else,  undergoing  with  fanatical  voluptuousness  the 
crafty  effects  of  atmosphere  and  climate,  their  plump 
hovels  sticking  to  plowed  fields  as  tawny  as  their 
breeches,  had  formerly  suffered  from  a  sharp  nostalgia 
when  conscription  had  brutally  transplanted  them  into 
the  tumultuous  and  turbulent  city,  deprived  them  of 
their  laborer's  garb  to  harness  them  in  military  livery, 
detained  them  in  putrid  barracks  far  from  their  bal- 
samic native  fields,  or  spewed  them  forth,  on  certain 
days,  confused  and  dreary,  into  the  snare-ridden 
street?  What  desolation;  what  desires  for  the 
wretched  homeland !  How  many  hours  there  were  in 
which  to  ruminate  trifling  memories ! 

Ah!  the  stealthy  homecoming  of  the  soldier;  the 
minutes  exactly  calculated,  the  road  travelled  at  a 
fugitive's  pace ! 

The  day-long  furlough,  the  short  respite  employed 
to  pass  one  hour,  but  one  brief  hour,  at  the  natal 
hearth ;  the  unexpected  apparitions  conjured  up  on  the 
hasty  trip,  breathless  and  panting  like  a  hunted  tramp ; 
only  time  enough  to  go  and  come,  to  put  foot  upon 
the  delicious  home  fields,  to  embrace  the  old  folk  and 
the  loved  one,  to  again  breathe  the  odor  of  the  land 
in  the  emollient  humidity  of  twilight ! 

And  now  these  same  hardened  rustics,  seeing  them- 
selves confronted  by  a  sinister  dilemma,  filled  with 


236  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

a  poignant  and  sullen  resolution,  consented  to  cut 
themselves  off  forever  from  their  native  land. 

For  a  long  time  their  faithful  hearts  had  resisted. 
As  long  as  they  had  succeeded  in  being  able  to  di- 
vide among  them  a  crust  of  black  bread  and  a  por- 
ringer full  of  potatoes  they  had  been  inflexible,  stint- 
ing themselves,  as  strong  in  their  attachment  to  the 
land  as  Christians  are  in  the  faith ;  but  v^hen  the  day 
came  when  the  women  and  even  the  children  had  noth- 
ing to  eat,  their  heroism  had  given  away,  and  one 
morning  they  had  resolved  upon  exile  as  if  they  were 
resigning  themselves  to  suicide. 

It  is  all  over.  The  household  leaves  the  ancestral 
farm;  its  head  gives  up  the  leased  land,  sells  the  cat- 
tle, horses,  the  wagons,  the  agricultural  tools !  .  .  . 

The  defeat  of  the  most  tenacious  partisans  of  the 
land,  of  the  best  among  the  peasantry,  excited  the  rest 
of  the  population  and  set  them  in  motion;  the  panic 
propagated  itself  from  village  to  village. 

Farmers  who  could  have  held  out  for  a  few  years 
more  and  withstood  the  crisis  took  fright,  and  sent 
off  their  laborers  and  poor,  half -starved  wretches. 
They  remembered  so  many  of  their  richer  neighbors, 
who  had  always  been  hoping,  who  had  moved  heaven 
and  hell  against  repeated  proof,  against  chronic  dis- 
tress, until  the  insufficiency  of  the  crops,  aggravated 
by  the  competition  of  transatlantic  granaries,  reduced 
them  in  their  old  age  to  taking  service  on  the  farms 
of  which  they  had  formerly  been  the  masters. 

The  far-sighted  took  their  tools  and  the  beasts  of 
burden  with  them.  They  went  bravely  to  the  fertile 
fields,  the  promised  lands  and  eldorados,  the  kingdoms 
of  Cockaigne  ruled  over  by  Prester  John,  America 
bursting  with  grain  and  fruit,  the  produce  of  which,  fat 


THE  EMIGRANTS  237 

beef,  tasty  meat,  prolific  wheat,  was  inundating,  from 
over  the  sea,  the  markets  of  Europe,  submerging  the 
ridiculous  flora  and  fauna  torn  from  our  pasturage 
and  fallow  fields.  No !  rather  than  wait  for  the  coup- 
de-grace,  the  harvesters  of  decadent  Europe  were  leav- 
ing for  the  plethoric  continent. 

And,  to  complete  the  defeat  and  transform  into 
nomads  the  hitherto  underacinated  peasants,  recruiters 
with  the  gift  of  the  gab,  adroit  and  insinuating,  went 
from  market  town  to  market  town,  visited  the  inns  on 
the  days  of  fairs  and  sales,  and  took  advantage  of  the 
poor  fellows'  after-taste  and  lassitude  on  Sunday  even- 
ings, or  on  the  mornings  following  a  kermess,  to  excite 
their  minds  with  troubling  mirages  of  prosperity.  In 
order  the  better  to  hearken  to  the  honeyed  voiced  temp- 
ter and  his  glittering  gabble,  cowherds  and  haymakers, 
horny  and  innocent,  their  mouths  wide  open,  their  eyes 
ecstatic,  allowed  their  clay  pipes  to  go  out.  The  elec- 
tricity of  wonder  played  upon  their  tanned  and  shiny 
skins,  tickled  their  ingenuous  feelings  to  the  marrow, 
stupefied  their  cunning  senses,  and  held  them  breath- 
less, hanging  upon  the  lips  of  the  rascal  from  which 
fell,  like  fireworks,  descriptions  more  dazzling  and 
more  fiery  than  the  chromos  on  a  mercer's  bale  or  bal- 
lad-monger's screen. 

A  swarm  of  these  jobbers  recruited  from  among  the 
lowest  class  of  procurers  had  pounced  upon  the  coun- 
try like  jackals  upon  a  battlefield.  They  had  the  sus- 
picious manner,  the  air  of  familiarity,  the  gawky  move- 
ments of  cheap  peddlers  which  would  have  set  less 
simple  minds  against  them. 

Thus,  they  examined  the  sturdiest  of  the  laborers, 
inspected  them  from  head  to  foot  with  an  almost  em- 
barassing  persistence,  going  so  far  as  to  pass  their 


23B  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

hands  over  the  legs  and  thighs,  feeling  and  testing  them 
as  they  would  test  cattle  or  poultry  on  market  days, 
taking  their  chins  as  if  it  were  a  question  of  telling  a 
foal's  age  by  its  mouth.  A  little  more  and  they  would 
have  asked  the  unsuspecting  rustics  to  undress  in  order 
to  examine  and  auscultate  them  more  easily.  Slave 
dealers  behaved  hardly  any  differently  with  the  ne- 
groes at  the  slave  markets.  They  operated  especially 
among  young,  vigorous  men,  gaining  their  confidence, 
jesting,  bantering  paternally,  as  free  in  their  pleasantry 
as  military  surgeons  presiding  at  a  board  of  appeal. 

These  crimps,  fugitives  from  the  country  or  emaci- 
ated denizens  of  the  slums,  broken  to  unclean  business, 
knew  well  how  to  beget  eager  desires  in  these  primitive 
but  complex  hearts ;  they  stirred  up  the  vague  need  for 
enjoyment  that  slumbers  in  the  hearts  of  brutes ;  they 
enticed  these  illiterates,  warmed  them  up,  worked  them 
up  morally,  as  they  did  physically. 

Deceived  and  ravished  as  if  in  a  dream,  our  rustics 
inhaled  the  honeyed  discourse,  lent  themselves  to  in- 
sidious caresses;  never  had  so  much  attention  been 
paid  them,  never  had  such  flattering  opinions  so  highly 
extolled  them  to  themselves,  the  louts !  They  became 
slack,  became  the  lieges  of  their  magnetisers,  and  no 
longer  moved,  fearing  lest  the  lethargy  and  long  ener- 
vation should  cease !  And  presently,  the  crimp  would 
but  have  to  pull  the  string  in  order  to  catch  a  plentiful 
and  flourishing  haul. 

Ah!  they  were  not  squeamish,  these  emigration 
agents !  After  having  operated  throughout  the  rest  of 
Europe,  draining  prolific  but  degenerate  races,  here 
they  were  casting  their  spell  upon  the  best  blood  of 
Flanders,  choosing  strong  and  well-built  fellows  as 
patient  and  hard-working  as  their  dogs.     "We  must 


THE  EMIGRANTS  1^39 

have  a  hundred  thousand  Belgians,  and  we  shall  have 
them  in  six  months!"  had  declared  Bejard,  Saint- 
Fardier  and  Vera-Pinto.  And  their  hired  crimps  set 
to  work  with  a  will.  Go  it,  impostors !  To  the  prey, 
vampires!  The  commission  is  worth  taking  some 
trouble  for.  It  is  fifteen  to  twenty  francs,  according 
to  quality,  for  each  Flemish  head  turned  over  to  the 
shipper  of  human  flesh. 

But  the  beaters  and  their  subaltern  trackers  were 
carefully  silent  about  their  profits.  To  listen  to  them, 
they  were  the  most  disinterested  of  apostles,  purely 
philanthropic,  particularly  devoted  to  the  peasantry. 

Their  clap-trap  speeches  gushed  with  gold  and  sun- 
shine. The  brokers  in  lies  led  their  hearers  through 
the  promised  land,  gardens  of  paradise  and  palaces  of 
faery.  The  warmth  and  the  brilliant  sun  of  the  trop- 
ics kindled  and  illumined  the  melancholy  horizons  of 
these  visionaries ;  it  was  as  if  a  magic  fire-screen  had 
appeared  in  a  dark  room.  Ripe  corn,  crowned  with 
ears  as  large  as  their  golden  wigs,  lifted  its  sheaves  to 
the  height  of  the  roofs;  trees  were  bent  beneath  the 
weight  of  gourds  that  were  apples.  The  sands  yielded 
tobacco;  rivulets  of  milk  irrigated  the  newly-opened 
land;  the  chimney  smoke  rose  gently  toward  a  sky 
more  blue  than  the  garb  of  the  holy  Daughters  of 
Mary ;  and  that  purple,  suddenly  burnished  and  scintil- 
lant,  which  clothes  the  hill-sides  until  they  are  lost  to 
view,  is  not  that  of  your  heather,  oh,  stout  drinkers  of 
beer,  but  the  purple  of  your  vines,  oh,  future  bruisers 
of  grapes! 

From  time  to  time  the  charmer  interrupted  himself, 
as  much  to  catch  his  breath  as  to  give  the  simple  folk, 
whom  he  was  heaping  with  promises,  time  to  sniff  and 
to  taste  the  perfumed  visions  he  had  conjured  up. 


240  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

Then  he  vaunted  the  good  temperature,  the  clement 
climate,  the  eternally  smiling  seasons.  There  were  no 
visitors,  no  tempests  to  disconcert  the  foresight  of 
the  farmer  and  ruin  his  crops. 

There,  work  was  a  diversion;  there  were  no  land- 
lords, no  masters,  no  cares ;  no  servitude  and  no  rent. 

Alternately  tender  and  sportive,  the  impostor  abso- 
lutely intoxicated  his  audience.  To  the  pomp  of  a 
florid  description,  to  the  hyperboles  of  a  dentist,  the 
instrument  of  the  dealers  in  souls  added  the  wit  of  the 
street-corner;  he  spiced  his  eloquence  with  the  gross 
jests  of  the  peasantry;  he  flattered  the  weaknesses, 
kindled  the  brutal  sensuality,  fed  the  carnal  desires  of 
these  shameless  lovers,  conjured  up  willing  subjects 
for  a  frenzied  passion  excited  by  prolonged  continence. 
The  bumpkins  were  tempted,  as  they  listened,  dry- 
throated,  quivering,  to  the  smutty  visions,  harassed 
and  quickened  by  the  subtle  viciousness  and  perverse 
ribaldry  of  this  rogue,  as  scaly  as  any  siren. 

Finally,  as  a  last  resort,  the  procurer  proposed  to 
read  letters  from  those  adventurers  who  had  tried  and 
gained  fortune  in  the  promised  land : 

"Ah!  they  are  as  authentic  as  the  Evangel,  these 
epistles !  Look  them  over  yourself,  schoolmaster ;  you 
can  read !  See  the  postmark  on  the  letter.  .  .  .  And 
these  stamps,  these  "little  heads,"  as  you  call  them,  do 
not  bear  the  features  of  our  king  'LiapolT  Why 
don*t  you  read  them,  schoolmaster?  Fm  not  trying 
to  force  you  into  believing  them!  Here  is  what  Tve 
told  you,  in  black  and  white!" 

The  letters  flowed  with  coarse  eulogy,  dictated  in 
Europe  or  elaborated  in  the  facendas  of  the  purveyors 
across  the  sea.  The  collusion  would  have  undeceived 
more  lettered  listeners. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  241 

"Yes,  boys,  Vm  going  back  myself  in  a  few  days. 
As  sure  as  there  is  a  God  I  shall  never  again  be  able 
to  live  in  our  little  Europe !" 

And  the  jolly  fellow  wheedled  them,  urged  them, 
and  took  them  all  in.  Sometimes,  in  order  to  em- 
phasize his  talk,  he  would  roll,  with  pretended  careless- 
ness, a  handful  of  gold  upon  the  table,  sticky  with  the 
slops  of  many  glasses.  They  were  foreign,  enormous 
coins.  Over  there  one  paid  only  in  goldpieces  as  large 
as  our  wretched  five  francs  silver  coins.  At  the  clink- 
ing of  the  gold,  the  little  cowherd's  eyes  would  sparkle ; 
he  already  saw  himself  a  conquistador ;  his  mistress 
would  order  about  hundreds  of  servants,  clothe  her- 
self only  in  laces,  and  sprawl  upon  a  bed  of  down. 

When  they  reached  home,  the  young  fellows  rumi- 
nated these  visions;  if  they  slept,  they  found  them 
again  in  their  dreams.  Husbands  talked  it  over  in  bed 
with  their  wives;  at  first  grumbling  and  refractory, 
their  wives  allowed  themselves  to  be  convinced  and 
fascinated. 

In  the  fields,  beneath  a  sullen  sky,  in  the  midst  of 
flat,  broken  fields,  while  they  disembowelled  the  earth 
that  seemed  more  recalcitrant  than  ever,  the  mirage 
returned  to  haunt  them  and,  sluggish  at  their  work, 
their  elbows  and  chins  resting  on  the  handle  of  the 
hoe,  or  idly  whistling  their  oxen,  the  laborers  recalled 
the  fabulous  lands,  and  dreamed  of  the  crimp's  prom- 
ises. 

And  the  gold  that  he  toyed  with !  One  of  those  yel- 
low disks  alone  represented  triple  the  value  of  the 
white  coins  that  they  earned  from  their  haes.  .  .  . 

And  that  is  why,  on  this  January  morning,  the 
bowels  of  The  Gina — that  big  craft,  once  so  rakish, 
but  long  since  painted  the  uniform  black  of  a  poor 


242  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

man's  coffin — should  have  been  elastic  to  accommodate 
all  the  human  flesh  that  was  being  stowed  therein,  all 
those  pariahs  for  whom  wily  thaumaturges  evoked, 
out  of  the  leaden  fogs  of  the  Scheldt,  the  gleaming, 
distant  Pactolus. 

However,  two  huge  trucks  of  the  American  Nation, 
requisitioned  by  Jean  Vingerhout,  drove  down  to  the 
quay.  Out  of  honor  to  him,  two  pairs  of  Furnes  horses, 
enormous,  epic  palfreys,  stately,  slow-paced  workers, 
whose  equal  and  solemn  step  bettered  the  trot  of  a 
racer,  had  been  harnessed  to  them.  The  proud  beasts 
had  never  drawn  such  light  and  pitiable  merchandise ; 
the  baggage  piled  up,  but  was  not  heavy.  So  very 
little  that  in  order  not  to  humiliate  the  powerful 
horses,  the  emigrants  themselves  rode  on  the  drays. 

In  the  midst  of  the  confusion,  the  disorder  of  white 
cases  tightly  nailed  and  roped,  of  opened  sacks,  of 
shabby  outfits  tied  up  in  checked  cotton  scarfs,  there 
lounged  about  groups  of  young  emigrants  from  Lille, 
Brasschaet,  Santvliet,  Pulderbosch  and  Viersel. 

A  few  were  boisterously  laughing,  noisily  skipping 
about,  questioning  the  curious  onlookers,  seeming  to 
exult.  In  reality  they  were  forcing  themselves  to 
self-deception,  to  renounce  the  fixed  idea  that  was 
gnawing  them  as  keenly  as  remorse.  Under  the  pre- 
text of  heartening  their  less  cheerful  and  exuberant 
companions,  they  clapped  them  stoutly  on  the  back. 
Among  these  villagers  there  were  at  most  one  or  two 
whose  immoderate  and  demonstrative  joy  was  sincere. 
The  others  were  trying  to  excite  themselves.  But,  now 
that  the  gamble  had  been  taken,  and  they  could  neither 
change  their  minds  nor  extricate  themselves,  as  the 
xnist  of  illusion  began  to  dissipate,  and  their  con- 


THE  EMIGRANTS  243 

sciences  began  to  awake,  they  drank  huge  bumpers  of 
alcohol  as  on  the  day  when  military  lots  were  drawn. 

Wide-eyed  and  flushed,  dressed  in  their  best,  but  dis- 
hevelled, they  would,  at  first  sight,  have  been  taken 
for  those  young  servants  and  farm-hands  who,  on  the 
feast  of  Saint  Peter  and  Saint  Paul,  were  trundled 
about  from  dawn  until  night  in  carts  covered  with 
flowers  and  green  leaves. 

The  majority  were  silent  and  apathetic,  lost  in  medi- 
tation. If,  perchance,  they  were  won  over  by  their 
neighbors*  frenzy  to  bawl  out  a  kermess-song,  the 
"Nous  irons  au  pays  des  roses/'  of  the  Rozenlands  of 
Saint  Peter  and  Paul,  or  the  "Nous  arrivons  de  Tord- 
le-Cou"  of  the  mardigras  Gansrijders,  the  notes  were 
quickly  strangled  in  their  throats,  and  they  fell  back 
into  reflection. 

Before  their  journey  began,  their  thoughts  were 
already  soaring  through  the  boundless  space  of  cloud 
and  tide  to  the  distant  shores  where  new  lands  awaited 
them ;  or  their  spirit  was  travelling  back  to  their  native 
villages,  left  but  the  night  before,  to  the  slate  belfry 
of  the  church,  whose  melancholy  voice  would  never 
again  exhort  them  to  resignation.  Oh,  those  chimes 
that  in  former  days  had  awakened  a  guerilla  cavalry 
to  arms  against  the  regicide  foreigner,  and  whose  toc- 
sin was  no  longer  sufficiently  eloquent  to  stave  off  the 
invasion  of  Hunger!  In  memory  the  already  repent- 
ant fugitives  returned  to  their  precarious  heritages, 
among  their  little  crops,  pitifully  rotated  and  won  only 
after  a  struggle  with  the  wild  heather  (adorable  enemy, 
so  cursed,  and  already  so  regretted!);  or  again,  to 
the  banks  of  the  vennes  and  meers,  where  they  fished 
with  worms  while  watching  their  thin  cows ;  or  around 
the  scaddes,  or  bonfires,  fighting  off  the  marshy  mois- 


244  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

ture  of  October  evenings  with  its  resinous  per- 
fume. 

Oh,  the  fair  hamlet  in  which  they  would  never  again 
set  foot,  where  they  could  not  even  go  to  sleep  their 
last  and  best  sleep  in  earth  twice  sanctified,  beside  the 
rebellious  folk  of  the  past ! 

Laurent  plumbed  their  mental  reservations.  His 
compassion  for  the  Tilbaks  extended  to  their  com- 
panions. Among  many  touching  episodes,  one  espe- 
cially stirred  him  forever  and  seemed  to  be  the  quint- 
essence of  the  distress  and  heart-breaking  grief  of 
this  prologue  of  exile. 

At  least  thirty  households  from  Willeghem,  a  strag- 
gling little  village  on  the  f artherest  northern  frontier, 
had  agreed  to  leave  their  wretched  land  all  together. 
They  had  not  taken  their  places  on  the  trucks,  but  a 
little  after  the  arrival  of  the  bulk  of  the  Flemish  emi- 
grants, they  presented  themselves  in  good  order,  as 
if  in  a  holiday  procession.  They  were  anxious  to 
make  a  good  showing,  to  distinguish  themselves  from 
the  mob,  hoping  that  after  their  departure  people  would 
exclaim,  "The  bravest  showing  was  made  by  Willeg- 
hem r 

First  came  the  young  men,  then  the  women  with 
their  children,  then  the  young  girls,  and  last  of  all  the 
old  people.  Some  of  the  mothers  were  still  suckling 
their  last-born.  How  many  old  folk,  leaning  upon 
crutches,  and  hoping  for  a  mysterious  renewal  of 
youth,  were  destined  to  die  upon  the  way  and,  having 
been  sewn  in  bags  ballasted  with  sand,  would  be  rolled 
off  a  board  as  food  for  the  fishes  ?  Men  with  navvies' 
outfits,  clad  in  heavy  curduroy,  were  carrying  pick- 
axes and  hoes  on  their  shoulders,  and  wallets  and 
flasks  at  their  hips.    Tilers  and  brickmakers  were  get- 


THE  EMIGRANTS  245 

ting  under  way  for  lands  where  tiles  and  bricks  were 
unknown. 

A  young  girl,  with  the  air  of  a  simpleton,  her  face 
bloated  and  beaming,  was  carrying  off  a  tarin  in  a 
cage. 

At  the  head  of  the  line  marched  the  village  band, 
with  banner  flying. 

The  band  and  the  flag  were  also  emigrating.  The 
musicians  could  boldly  carry  off  their  instruments 
and  their  flag,  for  there  was  no  one  left  in  Willeghem 
to  employ  the  band. 

Laurent  spied  a  white-haired  ecclesiastic,  the  village 
priest,  marching  next  to  the  flag-bearer.  Despite  his 
advanced  age,  the  pastor  had  insisted  in  accompany- 
ing his  parishioners  to  the  dock  just  as  he  had  ac- 
companied them  each  year  upon  the  pilgrimage  to 
Montaigu,  for  the  many  past  years  during  which  the 
famine  had  lasted!  Why,  oh,  mistress  of  the  Cam- 
pine  and  of  Hageland,  were  you  deaf  to  their  cry  of 
distress?  Instead  of  ascending,  as  in  legendary  times, 
the  turbid  streams  of  the  land,  in  barks  without  crew 
or  pilot,  to  disembark  on  shores  chosen  by  their  di- 
vine fancy  and  have  miraculous  sanctuaries  builded 
there,  the  madonnas  were  now  deserting  their  time- 
honored  resting  places  and  had  travelled  back  over  the 
same  rivers  that  formerly  had  brought  them,  unknown 
saints,  to  the  heart  of  Flanders.  Nevertheless,  the 
simple  folk  of  the  Flemish  plains  had  built  you  a 
basilica  on  one  of  the  only  mountains  in  their  land, 
as  much  so  that  the  resplendent  starry  cupola  of  your 
temple  of  compassion  might  be  seen  from  the  far  dis- 
tance so  as  to  bring  you  nearer  to  your  Heaven.  Fickle 
Virgin,  did  you  give  the  example  of  emigration  to  all 
the  homesick  folk  from  the  moors  of  the  Scheldt?  ,  ,  . 


246  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

But  that  evening,  after  having  seen  the  ship  disap- 
pear behind  a  bend  in  the  river,  and  the  spirals  of 
smoke  become  indistinguishable  in  the  mist  lying 
over  the  polders,  the  good  pastor  would  journey  back 
slowly  to  his  fold,  as  sad  as  a  shepherd  who  has  just 
delivered  to  the  formidable  unknown  the  half  of  a 
flock  branded  with  a  red  cross  by  the  drover. 

If,  however,  the  aristocratic  and  noble  landowners, 
county-squires  and  baronets,  had  consented  to  reduce 
the  rents,  these  lovers  of  the  land  would  not  have  had 
to  depart.  They  would  be  in  a  pretty  pickle,  when 
there  were  no  longer  any  hands  to  clear  their  wide 
lands ! 

Some  of  the  emigrants  from  Willeghem  wore  a 
sprig  of  heather  in  their  caps ;  others  had  tied  an  arm- 
ful of  the  symbolic  flowers  to  the  ends  of  their  sticks, 
to  the  handles  of  their  implements,  and  the  most  fer- 
vent among  them  were  carrying  off,  with  touching 
childishness,  a  handful  of  the  native  sand  tied  in  a  little 
box,  or  sewn  in  a  bag,  as  an  amulet. 

Ingenuously,  not  to  recriminate  against  the  unnat- 
ural antipathy  of  their  mother  country,  but  to  render 
her  a  last  filial  honor,  these  peasants  flaunted  their 
national  costumes,  the  most  local  and  characteristic 
attire;  the  men,  their  high  and  puffy  caps  of  silk, 
coarse  breeches,  smocks  of  a  peculiar  cut  and  color, 
of  dark  blue  bordering  upon  the  slate  grey  of  their 
sky,  so  that  one  might  differentiate  by  their  blouses 
the  peasants  of  the  North  from  those  of  the  Midi ; — 
the  women  wearing  large  winged  lace  caps  tied  to  their 
chignons  by  a  flowered  ribbon,  and  those  bizarre  hats, 
shaped  like  a  truncated  cone,  that  have  no  like  in  any 
other  country  on  earth. 

At  the  moment  of  finally  deserting  their  native  land, 


THE  EMIGRANTS  247 

it  seemed  as  if  they  hoped  to  extol  her  and  anoint 
themselves  with  her  in  an  indelible  fashion.  So  they 
talked  loudly,  rolling  out  the  fat  and  sticky  syllables 
of  their  dialect  with  a  certain  ostentation;  they  in- 
sisted upon  making  the  diphthongs  reverberate  in  the 
atmosphere  of  their  origin. 

And  they  found  still  another  means  of  accentuating 
the  tender  and  unconscious  irony  of  their  demonstra- 
tions. 

When  they  came  under  the  shed,  before  walking 
down  the  gangplank  of  the  boat,  steaming  up  for  de- 
parture, those  at  the  head  of  the  line  halted  and  faced 
about,  turning  toward  the  tower  of  Antwerp,  and 
putting  the  brasses  to  their  lips,  their  flag  hoisted  high, 
they  began,  not  without  false  notes,  the  supreme  na- 
tional song,  the  "Ou  pent  on  etre  mieux''  of  the  Lieg- 
eois  Gretry,  the  simple  and  gentle  melody  of  which 
brought  together,  in  the  accents  of  the  noblest  lan- 
guage, Flamands  and  Walloons,  sons  of  the  same  Bel- 
gium, differing  in  temperament,  but  not  enemies,  in 
spite  of  what  politicians  say.  And  so  the  colliers  of  the 
Borinage  were  stretching  out  their  hands  to  the  Fla- 
mands. 

In  just  such  a  way  two  orphans  might  embrace  and 
become  reconciled  at  their  mother's  deathbed! 

The  pathetic  implications  of  this  final  aubade  to  the 
fatherland  brought  a  rush  of  thoughts  to  Laurent's 
mind.  He  heard  in  that  tender  hymn,  scanned  and 
modulated  in  so  beautifully  barbarous  a  fashion  by 
these  loving  exiles,  the  hoarse  cry  of  all  the  repressed 
emotions  and  disillusions  of  his  life.  The  scene  be- 
fore him  rendered  the  world  of  the  downtrodden  and 
misunderstood  dearer  than  ever  to  him. 

How  far  he  was  already  from  that  carefree  day  of 


248  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

the  excursion  to  Hemixem,  and  how  far,  too,  from  the 
day  of  his  return  to  Antwerp  and  his  long  contem- 
plation of  the  banks  of  the  well-loved  river ! 

On  that  Sunday  of  sunshine  the  air  had  rang  with 
music,  but  none  of  the  peasant  phalanxes  had  left  the 
shore  never  to  see  it  again ! 

The  arrival  of  the  Tilbaks  and  of  Jean  Vingerhout 
carried  Laurent's  excitement  to  its  paroxysm.  He  tot- 
tered like  a  sleep-walker  when  the  master-docker 
touched  his  shoulder.  His  heart  was  too  full  for  ut- 
terance, but  the  convulsed  expression  of  his  face  told 
them  better  than  words  the  world  of  sorrow  that  he 
was  undergoing. 

He  embraced  Siska  and  Vincent,  hesitated  a  mo- 
ment, then  consulting  brave  Jean  Vingerhout  with  a 
look,  pressed  a  long  fraternal  kiss  upon  Henriette's 
forehead,  crushed  the  former  haes  of  the  America  Na- 
tion against  his  breast,  and,  taking  Henriette's  hands, 
put  them  in  those  of  her  husband  and  clasped  them 
both  in  his,  as  if  to  unite  them  in  an  almost  sacra- 
mental clasp. 

Then,  feeling  the  emotion  choking  his  throat,  he 
could  only  turn  to  Lusse  and  Pierket,  who  were  stretch- 
ing him  their  hands  and  lips.  And,  beneath  the  tears 
that  Laurent  could  no  longer  withold,  Pierket,  who 
adored  his  big  friend,  burst  into  tears  and  clung  to  his 
neck  as  though  he  wanted  to  carry  Laurent  off  be- 
yond the  seas. 

The  lugubrious  and  ironic  coincidence  that  brought 
about  the  departure  of  Henriette  and  her  family  upon 
The  Gina  had  wrung  Laurent's  heart  far  too  much. 
He  recognized  in  it  the  evil  genius  of  Bejard  and  his 
wife.  This  Gina  was  ravishing  him  of  Henriette 
and  of  all  whom  he  loved  I 


THE  EMIGRANTS  249 

Other  bizarre  and  unsuspected  correlations  also  pre- 
sented themselves.  The  village  of  Willeghem,  emi- 
grating in  a  body,  was  precisely  the  one  of  Vincent's 
and  Siska's  origin.  As  they  had  left  it  as  children, 
they  knew  nobody.  But  in  asking  the  crowd,  they  dis- 
covered a  few  names,  distinguished  some  family  fea- 
tures among  the  mass  of  faces  and  ended  by  discover- 
ing some  cousins.  These  acquaintances  had  the  one 
good  quality  of  astonishing  and  diverting  the  emi- 
grants.   Jean  Vingerhout  said  laughingly : 

"Willeghem  will  be  full  over  there!  And  we  shall 
found  a  new  colony  and  give  it  the  name  of  the  dear 
village !    Vive  New- Willeghem !" 

And  all  echoed  him. 

But  other  comrades  than  the  peasants  monopolized 
the  Tilbaks*  attention.  The  America  Nation  in  a  body ; 
deans,  haes,  comrades,  wagoners,  measurers,  steve- 
dores, stable-watchmen,  loaders,  carters  and  many  of 
the  chiefs  of  other  corporations  had  made  an  escort 
for  the  worthy  Jean,  the  best  liked  of  the  chiefs  and 
colleagues.  How  many  efforts  they  had  made  to  re- 
tain him !  For,  when  he  offered  as  protests  his  hatred 
of  the  business,  his  wish  to  see  other  lands,  hard  times, 
the  more  perspicacious  of  them  knew  that  the  worthy 
fellow,  having  been  the  ringleader  of  the  last  troubles, 
feared,  by  remaining  at  their  head,  to  draw  down  upon 
them  the  ire  of  the  wealthy  folk,  and  so  do  the  union 
a  disservice. 

Among  the  mob  of  dockers  could  be  found  loiterers 
from  the  Coin  de  Pasesseux,  athletic  do-nothings,  as 
proud  as  they  were  indolent,  who  so  often  had  dis- 
armed Jean  Vingerhout  by  their  superb  phlegm,  when 
they  did  not  make  him  furious  by  their  inertia  and 
desertion  from  work.    These  triflers  were  jostling  each 


250  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

other  to  grasp  heartily  the  hands  of  the  emigrants, 
and  for  once  quitting  their  habit  of  pure  acting,  they 
even  helped  put  the  baggage  on  board. 

The  shopkeepers  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Cocoa- 
nut  likewise  crowded  about  the  Tilbaks.  The  mari- 
time and  working  population  of  the  harbor  and  the 
basins  joined  as  a  body  in  this  manifestation  of  re- 
gret and  sympathy.  In  the  crowd  Laurent  thought 
that  he  even  recognized  a  few  young  runners  who  were 
perhaps  not  as  black  as  they  had  been  painted,  and  who 
were  determined  to  show  their  sympathy  for  these 
poor  folk. 

These  demonstrations  brought  a  happy  diversion  to 
the  farewells  by  stupefying  those  in  whose  honor  they 
were  made.  The  workers  on  the  docks,  healthy  and 
joyous  fellows,  the  blackest  thing  about  whom  was 
their  quid  of  tobacco,  affected  a  rather  forced  gaiety, 
exaggerated  their  frank  humour,  tortured  their  spirit 
to  find  mirth-provoking  sallies;  but  more  than  one  of 
them  blew  his  nose  too  frequently,  or  wiped  his  face 
with  his  sleeve  when  there  was  not  a  sign  of  sweat  to 
dry  away. 

Nor  would  Jean  Vingerhout  allow  his  spirits  to  lag; 
clever  in  his  answers,  he  succeeded  in  telling  the  big- 
gest fibs,  and  faithful  to  his  reputation  of  being  the 
life  and  soul  of  the  Nations,  delivered  a  debauch  of 
aphorisms  and  stupefying  monologues  in  which 
cropped  up  the  spirit  of  Pere  Cats  and  Uilenspiegel. 

He  absolutely  had  to  drink  a  few  more  glasses  with 
his  comrades  in  the  nearest  cafe.  Nor  could  Paridael 
refuse  the  hospitality  of  his  worthy  employers  and 
fellow- workers.  And  in  front  of  the  bar,  where  round 
after  round  was  drunk,  amidst  the  hot  fire  of  their 
jokes  and  volleys  of  oaths  and  blows  upon  the  table, 


THE  EMIGRANTS  251 

Laurent  could  not  help  but  imagine  himself  back  at 
the  "local,"  after  work,  on  the  evenings  when  accounts 
were  turned  in.  Several  of  the  dockers  had  brought 
gifts  to  "their  Jean,"  this  one  a  pipe,  that  one  a  plug 
of  tobacco.  One  of  the  good  fellows  had  hit  upon  the 
idea  of  giving  Vingerhout  a  box  of  paper  in  three  col- 
ors. They  had  to  provide  against  interception  by  the 
facenderos.  If  Jean  wrote  on  white  paper,  it  would 
be  a  sign  that  things  were  going  well ;  the  rose-colored 
paper  would  signify  precarious,  but  supportable  condi- 
tions ;  the  green,  profound  distress.  And  that  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  the  letter  would  contain  only  opti- 
mistic and  reassuring  news. 

The  hour  was  at  hand.  Laurent  disappeared  from 
view  to  install  the  women  between  decks  with  Tilbak. 
At  first  some  difficulty  was  made  about  Laurent*s  go- 
ing on  board.  Access  to  the  emigrants*  quarters  was 
strictly  forbidden  to  the  curious,  and  for  good  reason. 
Once  on  board  the  boat,  the  travellers  were  forbidden 
to  return  on  shore,  under  penalty  of  losing  their  places 
and  the  price  of  their  tickets.  Nevertheless,  thanks  to 
the  assistance  of  a  sailor  with  whom  Tilbak  had  for- 
merly sailed,  Paridael  was  allowed  to  inspect  the  new 
domicile  of  his  friends. 

The  Gina  contained  over  six  hundred  camp-beds, 
or  rather,  badly  joined  frames  that  folded  up,  coupled 
and  piled  one  above  the  other  in  groups  of  a  dozen. 
The  bedding  of  these  hammocks  consisted  of  a  bag 
crammed  with  fetid  straw  upon  which  a  hog  would 
have  refused  to  stretch,  a  true  receptacle  for  vermin. 

In  spite  of  the  long  airing,  the  corridors  reeked  with 
the  indefinable  smell  of  a  badly  kept  hospital,  a  mix- 
ture of  bottles  and  of  rank  stench.  What  was  it  go- 
ing to  be  later,  after  all  these  stray  mortals  had  piled 


252  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

within,  their  bodies  and  their  rags  exuding  as  evil 
an  odor  as  a  swarm  of  deer ;  especially  in  bad  weather, 
when  the  port-holes  were  battened  down. 

The  rules  prescribed  the  separation  of  sexes  and  the 
separation  of  small  children  from  adults.  But  Bejard 
and  his  partners  were  not  men  to  be  bound  by  prescrip- 
tions ;  they  were  to  be  observed  only  while  in  the  har- 
bor. 

Before  even  gaining  the  open  sea  all  these  arrange- 
ments were  overturned ;  promiscuity  was  not  hindered, 
an  increase  of  passengers  brought  from  the  shore  in 
smugglers*  boats  during  the  night  was  fraudulently 
received  on  board.  Runners  and  smugglers  had  no 
better  customer  than  Bejard  and  Company. 

The  store-rooms  were  furnished  with  lard,  smoked 
beef,  ship's  biscuits,  beer,  coffee  and  tea  "in  quantity 
more  than  enough  for  twice  the  duration  of  the  voy- 
age," set  forth  the  prospectus,  the  last  literary  work 
of  Dupoissy.  In  truth  the  fresh  water  alone  could 
hardly  last  the  trip!  The  wretched  passengers  were 
rationed  as  though  they  were  a  besieged  garrison. 
Each  of  them  received  a  little  iron  bowl  like  those  given 
to  soldiers.  Eatables  and  drinkables  were  distributed 
twice  daily;  the  former  measured  by  the  pound,  the 
latter  in  tots,  a  special  measure  used  on  boats.  Nat- 
urally a  piercing  cold  reigned  incessantly  below  decks ; 
the  draught  coming  through  the  chinks  brought  on 
colds  without  ever  sweeping  out  the  inveterate  odor. 

And  this  was  where  his  good  Siska  and  dear  Hen- 
riette  were  to  Ke ! 

"Damn!"  said  Tilbak,  seeing  Laurent's  uneasy  ex- 
pression, "the  voyage  isn't  long.  And  Fve  seen  many 
others!" 

Jhey  went  up  on  deck  again,    Laurent  remarked 


THE  EMIGRANTS  253 

some  wooden  stalls  containing  eleven  draught-horses, 
the  stable  of  some  wealthy  farmer  who  had  been  fright- 
ened by  the  panic  and  was  emigrating  before  ruin 
came.  Looking  at  the  provision  made  for  them,  it 
seemed  that  he  might  just  as  well  have  thrown  his 
horses  into  the  Scheldt.  Their  owner  must  have  been 
very  unsophisticated  to  think  that  they  would  endure 
a  voyage  under  such  conditions.  The  exploiters  had 
arranged  to  transport  them  very  cheaply.  The  main- 
tenance of  the  horses  would  cost  their  owner  heavily, 
and  in  the  end  he  would  barely  realize  the  price  of 
their  hides.  Above  the  summary  stables,  without  the 
least  shelter,  wooden  boxes  held  straw,  hay  and 
oats. 

The  ivory,  however,  was  crowding  on  board  hastily. 
The  deck  had  the  look  of  a  bivouac  of  tramps,  of  a 
gypsy  encampment.  In  jostling  these  pariahs  from 
every  country,  carrying  heaven  knows  what  special 
color  and  odor  in  their  belongings,  Laurent  noticed 
that  they  were  very  lightly  clad,  and  that  already  there 
were  many  whose  teeth  chattered  and  who  were  tremb- 
ling with  fever.  One  of  Bejard's  agents  was  passing 
among  them,  and  to  comfort  them  was  telling  that  the 
cold  would  last  but  for  a  few  days.  Once  past  the 
gulf  of  Gascony,  perpetual  summer  would  begin.  The 
agent  did  not  add  that  between  Africa  and  the  shores 
of  Brazil  they  would  bake  so  that  they  could  not  come 
on  deck,  and  that  calenture  and  furious  delirium  would 
carry  off  some  of  those  who  could  have  borne  the 
marsh-fever.  He  especially  concealed  from  them  the 
horrors  of  the  crossing;  the  despotism  and  brutality 
that  awaited  them  upon  landing,  and  the  numerous 
miseries  not  to  be  endured  in  such  incompatible  sur- 
roundings. 


2S4  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

"It  is  time  to  take  in  the  gang-plank,  for  we're  off, 
comrade !"  the  sailor  said  to  Paridael. 

The  strident  whistle  alternated  with  the  noise  of  the 
engine.  Laurent  tore  himself  away  from  the  embraces 
of  his  friends  and  regained  the  dock. 

As  if  there  had  not  already  been  enough  distress  and 
horror,  a  lamentable  incident  came  up  at  the  last  mo- 
ment. 

A  tattered  wretch,  yellow  and  livid  at  the  same  time, 
his  eyes  haggard,  his  hair  in  disorder,  under  the  do- 
minion of  a  violent  alcoholic  excitation,  was  forcing 
toward  the  gangway  of  the  boat  a  poor  woman  with  a 
kindly  face,  but  no  less  stricken,  thin  and  illy-clad  than 
himself,  who  was  struggling,  shrieking,  resisting  him 
with  all  her  might,  two  wretched  brats  clinging  to  her 
knees.  Without  doubt  the  unfortunate  mother  did  not 
intend  to  follow  her  drunkard  husband  to  America, 
regarding  as  worse  than  the  famine  endured  in  her 
native  land  exile  far  away  from  all  friends,  from  all 
familiar  faces  and  things,  in  lands  where  nothing 
would  console  her  for  the  disgrace  and  the  debauchery 
of  her  husband. 

Sickened  by  this  scene,  Laurent  and  several  of  the 
haes  and  comrades  of  the  Nations  quickly  delivered 
the  mother  and  children.  While  some  led  the  poor 
woman,  almost  dead  from  exhaustion,  to  a  nearby 
cafe,  the  others  led  the  scamp  toward  The  Gina  and 
put  him  on  board  more  quickly  than  he  would  have 
wished,  throwing  him  across  the  gang-plank  at  the 
risk  of  plunging  him  into  the  water. 

The  drunkard,  completely  besotted,  seemed  to  re- 
sign himself  to  this  unlooked  for  divorce;  besides, 
communication  with  shore  had  just  been  cut  off. 
Without  worrying  further  about  his  family,  he  came 


THE  EMIGRANTS  255 

near  the  rail,  and  the  lookers-on  saw  him  take  a  half- 
full  bottle  of  gin  from  the  pocket  of  his  overcoat. 

"See  here,"  he  stuttered,  as  he  reeled  about  brandish- 
ing the  bottle  above  his  head,  "here's  all  that  I  have 
left;  the  last  money  I  had  was  drowned  in  this  bot- 
tle ..  .  and  I  drink  this  in  farewell  to  Bel- 
gium! .  .  ." 

And  putting  the  bottle  to  his  lips,  he  emptied  it  at  one 
gulp;  then  he  threw  it  with  all  his  force  against  the 
side  of  the  dock,  shattering  it  into  splinters  in  the 
water.    And  with  a  vacant  laugh,  he  yelled : 

"Ewiva  America !" 

However,  the  sailors  drew  in  and  rolled  up  the  haw- 
sers unloosed  from  the  dock,  the  screws  commenced 
to  churn  the  water ;  on  his  bridge  the  captain  was  hurl- 
ing repeated  orders  to  aft  and  stern,  and  talking 
through  a  tube  with  the  men  in  the  engine  room ;  and 
beneath  the  touch  of  the  helmsman,  the  boat  turned 
slowly  from  the  bank,  and  seething  little  waves  licked 
the  sides  of  The  Gina. 

At  the  shock  of  the  start,  the  drunkard  collapsed 
at  the  feet  of  his  fellow-travellers. 

Laurent  turned  his  eyes  toward  more  sympathetic 
people. 

The  Willeghem  band  waved  its  velvet  flag,  embroid- 
ered and  tasselled  with  gold,  and  again  took  up  the 
"Ow  peut-on  etre  mieux"  which  both  Borains  and 
Campinois  shouted  in  chorus. 

Among  the  mass  of  ruddy  or  wan  faces,  Laurent 
ended  by  seeing  only  the  Tilbak  group.  Until  the 
last  minute  he  had  thought  of  taking  passage,  without 
telling  them,  on  board  The  Gina,  to  share  their  des- 
tiny and  face  the  unknown  with  them ;  only  the  fear  of 
displeasing    Vincent    and    Siska,    of    opening    up    a 


256  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

freshly  cauterized  wound  in  their  daughter's  heart, 
of  awakening  suspicion  in  the  heart  of  honest  Vinger-^ 
hout,  of  being  an  object  of  constraint  and  annoyance 
to  them  had  retained  him  in  Antwerp. 

Then,  too,  a  vague  magnet  prevented  him  from  say- 
ing farewell  to  his  city;  he  had  a  presentiment  of  a 
fatal  duty  that  had  to  be  fulfilled,  of  a  role  necessary 
for  him  to  play.  He  did  not  know  what  they  were. 
But  without  worrying  about  the  future  destiny  had 
in  store  for  him,  he  was  awaiting  his  hour. 

On  The  Gina,  shouts,  cheers,  a  scuffle  and  a  tumult 
of  yells  drowned  the  sound  of  the  band.  They  were 
answering,  with  heart  and  lungs  no  less  dilated,  from 
the  mob  banked  on  the  dock.  Boat  and  shore  answered 
each  other,  contending  in  bluster,  verve  and  vigor. 
Caps  flew  in  the  air,  colored  handkerchiefs  waved  like 
the  variegated  banners  at  naval  parades. 

Women  who  looked  as  if  they  were  crying  and 
laughing  at  the  same  moment  held  their  children  up 
in  their  arms.  And  the  further  off  the  boat  drew,  the 
more  frantic  became  the  gestures.  It  seemed  as  if 
arms  were  extending  themselves  to  clasp  each  other 
again  across  the  intervening  water. 

Because  of  the  great  amount  of  water  it  drew  and 
because  of  its  more  than  full  cargo,  the  boat  remained 
for  a  long  while  within  view  of  the  onlookers.  Lau- 
rent profited  by  this  to  run  a  little  further  toward  the 
end  of  the  Tete  de  Grue,  to  the  beginning  of  the  basins, 
that  he  might  follow  the  boat  until  it  turned.  Hen- 
riette  had  already  gone  down  to  the  cabin  with  Jean 
Vingerhout.  Siska  and  Pierket  continued  to  throw 
him  kisses ;  he  heard  the  strong  male  voice  of  Vincent 
throwing  him  a  last  injunction  with  all  the  force  of  his 
soul. 


THE  EMIGRANTS  257 

But  with  each  turn  of  the  screw  Laurent  felt  him- 
self losing  a  little  of  his  security  and  confidence.  The 
*'0u  pent  on  etre  mieux"  receded,  died  away  in  the  dis- 
tance like  a  murmur. 

It  was  the  same  promontory  from  which  Laurent 
had  watched  the  faery  sunset  on  the  Scheldt  some 
years  before.  Today  it  was  gray,  foggy,  overcast; 
instead  of  jewels,  the  river  was  rolling  in  slime;  the 
embankments  of  the  Polder  sent  down  yellowed  grass ; 
the  sadness  of  the  season  harmonized  with  that  of  the 
people.  The  carillon  seemed  heavier  to  him,  and  the 
seagulls  of  former  days,  the  hieratic  and  welcoming 
priestesses,  shrieked  and  cried  Hke  sybils  of  misfor- 
tune. 

When  the  hulk  of  the  boat  has  disappeared  behind  a 
bend  in  the  Flanders  shore,  Laurent  continued  to  watch 
the  smoke-stack,  a  travelling  landmark  above  the  dikes ; 
then,  gradually,  it  became  only  a  black  line,  and  finally 
the  last  banner  of  smoke  was  lost  in  the  desolation  of 
a  January  fog. 

When  an  insidious  and  glacial  fine  rain  awoke 
the  young  man  from  this  coma,  he  noticed  that  he 
was  not  the  only  observer  at  the  end  of  the 
promontory. 

The  cure  of  Willeghem  was  still  looking  for  the 
track  and  the  backwater  of  The  Gina.  Two  big 
tears  fell  slowly  down  his  cheeks  and  he  traced  in  the 
air  the  sign  of  the  cross.  But  the  scattering  flight  of 
the  seamews,  their  shrieks  of  hailing  scorceresses 
seemed  to  parody  that  gentle  professional  gesture  in 
the  four  corners  of  the  heavens.  Unnerved  by  this 
final  sarcasm,  Laurent  turned  back  toward  the  city. 
The  noise  of  pickaxes  and  of  crumbling  blended  with 
the  grumbling  of  the  harbor  cranes,  with  the  rumble 


258  THE  NEW^  CARTHAGE 

of  merchandise  being  thrown  into  the  bottom  of  holds, 
with  the  continual  fall  of  calkers'  picks. 

In  order  to  enlarge  the  docks,  the  demolition  of  the 
old  quarters  had  been  ordered,  and  the  wrecking  had 
begun.  Already  large  pieces  of  wall  were  lying 
crumbled  into  plaster  at  the  corners  of  streets ;  tumble- 
down houses,  disembowelled,  cut  away  from  their 
gables,  showed  their  carcasses  of  bleeding  brick  from 
which  hung,  like  strips  of  flesh  and  skin,  sad,  flapping 
decorations.  They  looked  like  carcasses  hung  up  in 
butchers'  stalls. 

Here  and  there  breaches  had  been  made  in  the 
blocks  of  buildings  dating  back  to  before  the  Spanish 
dominion,  in  these  decaying  and  unsteady  old  houses 
that  swayed  toward  each  other  like  cold  old  women, 
brought  to  light  still  older  constructions,  unmasked 
vestiges  of  mediaeval  donjons,  unearthed  the  Roman 
forts  of  the  first  ages  of  the  city. 

On  a  part  of  the  line  of  the  quays  that  had  to  be  re- 
paired the  trees  beneath  which  the  two  Paridaels  had 
so  often  walked  had  already  disappeared. 

Not  only  was  the  glorious  Carthage  rejecting  her 
surplus  population,  exiling  her  people,  but,  not  con- 
tent with  having  turned  loose  her  pariahs,  she  was  de- 
molishing and  undermining  their  hovels.  She  was  be- 
having like  a  parvenue  who  rebuilds,  and  transforms 
from  cellar  to  roof  a  noble  and  ancestral  lordly  home ; 
discarding  or  destroying  all  the  relics  and  vestiges  of 
a  glorious  past,  and  replacing  picturesque  and  blue- 
blooded  ornaments  by  a  flashy  new  garb,  a  showy  new 
luxury  and  an  improvised  elegance. 

The  news  of  the  crimes  and  vandalism  to  which  the 
imbecile  Rich  had  delivered  over  his  natal  city  had 
chagrined  Laurent  to  the  point  of  making  him  move 


THE  EMIGRANTS  259 

away  from  the  theater  of  demolitions,  the  progress  of 
which  would  have  afflicted  him  too  keenly. 

Chance  had  willed  it  that  he  should  witness  this 
devastation  on  the  very  day  when  he  had  just  attended 
the  departure  of  his  friends.  The  contrast  between  the, 
activity  of  the  docks  and  the  ruin  that  was  beginnmg 
to  border  the  river  was  not  of  a  nature  to  console  him. 

At  the  moment  when  the  tumbrils  were  carrying 
away  the  plaster,  the  broken  stone  and  the  materials  of 
the  house  to  take  them  to  far  distant  dumps.  The  Gina 
was  also  carrying  away  as  much  refuse  material,  good- 
for-nothings,  cumbersome  parasites,  workers  without 
work,  peasants  without  land,  the  broke,  the  down  and 
out,  poor  devils  from  the  land  and  business. 

For  many  of  the  people  and  of  the  Antwerpians  of 
the  old  school,  it  was  as  if  the  proud  Scheldt  was  re- 
pudiating his  first  wife.  He  was  replacing  old  Ant- 
werp by  a  harsh  stepmother  bringing  new  unreason- 
ableness and  customs,  a  foreign  language  favorable  to 
the  breeding  of  other  customs.  She  was  gradually  re- 
pudiating the  children  of  the  first  marriage-bed,  brut- 
ally proscribing  the  descendents  of  the  primitive  stock, 
in  order  to  draw  near  her  arrogant  bastards,  to  sub- 
stitute in  the  paternal  favor  a  population  of  mongrels 
and  foreigners. 

There  had  even  been  talk,  in  the  meetings  of  the 
Regency,  of  tearing  down  the  Steen,  the  old  castle, 
just  as  they  had  already  torn  down  the  Tour-Bleue  and 
the  Port  Saint-Georges.  In  truth,  they  had  damaged 
the  admirable  arch  of  triumph  in  spite  of  themselves. 
Had  not  these  good  idiots  made  up  their  minds  to  tear 
down  the  gate  in  numbering  the  quarters,  block  by 
block,  as  in  a  game  of  patience?  But  our  eagles  did 
not  reckon  with  the  work  of  centuries,  and  at  this 


26o  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

game  of  architects  in  their  second  childhood,  what  was 
their  consternation  when  they  saw  the  ashlar  crumble 
away  to  dust  in  their  profane  fingers ! 

Ah!  it  was  high  time  for  the  Tilbaks  to  expatriate 
themselves.  It  was  as  good  to  go  as  to  remain  for 
the  havoc  and  depredation.  Those  who  might  ever 
return  ran  the  risk  of  not  knowing  their  land. 

The  wreckers  had  already  torn  down  the  first  houses 
in  the  savory  quartier  des  Bateliers.  Navvys  were  al- 
ready beginning  to  fill  in  the  old  canal  Saint-Pierre. 

Laurent  dived  further  and  further  into  the  city, 
wandering  with  filial  devotion  through  the  threatened 
streets,  according  to  the  agonized  walls  a  little  of  the 
sympathy  and  clemency  that  he  felt  for  the  expelled. 

And,  beneath  their  hollowed  gables,  the  sorrowful 
facades  possessed  the  emotions  of  human  faces,  of 
faces  solemn  with  approaching  death,  and  the  cross- 
barred  windows,  the  dusty  panes  of  glass,  cried  like 
blind  eyes,  and  here  and  there,  in  the  far-off  and  dis- 
cordant music  of  some  hovel,  wailed  the  last  "Ou  pent 
on  etre  mieux?"  of  the  Willeghem  band. 


Ill 

THE  RIET-DIJK 

Among  the  many  quarters  on  the  point  of  disap- 
pearing was  the  Riet-Dijk:  a  narrow  alley  throttling 
itself  behind  the  curb  of  the  houses  on  the  quai  de 
I'Escaut,  meeting  at  one  end  a  canal,  a  wet-dock  and 
storing  place  for  boats,  at  the  other,  a  wider  and 
longer  artery,  the  Fosse-du-Bourg. 

In  the  Riet-Dijk  and  the  Fosse-du-Bourg,  agglomer- 
ated the  houses  of  ill-fame.  It  was  the  "corner  of 
joy,**  the  Blijden-Hoek  of  ancient  chronicles.  In  the 
alley  were  high-priced  houses;  in  the  main  street  less 
costly  ones  for  modest  purses.  There  were,  in  this 
district,  brothels  consistent  with  every  class  and  caste 
of  customers ;  rich  men,  naval  officers,  sailors,  soldiers. 

In  the  evening,  harps,  accordions  and  violins  vied 
with  each  other,  scraping  and  screeching  in  this  su- 
preme beguinage  of  hospitalers,  and  intrigued  and  al- 
lured from  a  distance  the  stray  passerby  or  traveller. 
Hurried  melodies,  rhythms  of  the  rabble,  in  which  were 
blended,  like  strokes  of  the  lash  or  the  rope*s-end,  the 
crash  of  brass  bands  and  fifes:  street-walkers'  music. 

On  the  street,  the  whole  length  of  illuminated 
ground-floor  windows,  there  was  a  kermesse-like  oscil- 
lation ;  street-walkers  slouching  along,  loungers  loiter- 
ing about. 

261 


262  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

Until  eleven  o'clock  the  girls  from  these  brothels 
had  permission  to  roam  the  streets  in  turn  in  the  quar- 
ter itself  and  even  to  go  and  dance  at  the  Waux-Hall 
and  Frascati,  two  dance-halls  in  the  Fosse-du-Bourg. 

After  that  hour,  a  partial  curfew,  only  serious 
habitues  wandered  there,  upon  whom,  little  by  little, 
the  dives  finally  closed  their  doors.  The  screeching  of 
fiddles  was  hushed.  Soon  one  could  hear  only  the  la- 
mentation of  the  river  at  full-tide,  the  plashing  of  the 
water  against  the  piles  of  the  docks,  the  intermittent 
grumble  of  a  boat  being  fired  up  in  anticipation  of  its 
early  morning  departure. 

It  was  the  hour  of  stealthy  parties,  of  concealed  ob- 
scenity. Noctambulists,  their  collars  turned  up,  their 
hats  pushed  down  over  their  eyes,  slid  along  the  yel- 
low houses  and  tapped  masonic  signals  on  the  secret 
doors  of  byways. 

All  banquets  and  celebrations  terminated  in  a  pil- 
grimage to  the  Riet-Dijk.  Strangers  had  themselves 
taken  there  at  night  after  having  visited,  during  the 
day,  the  printing  house  of  Plantin-Moretus  and  the 
Rubens*  in  the  Cathedral.  Orators  at  banquets  took 
their  last  toasts  there. 

The  ups  and  downs  of  this  peculiar  quarter  coincided 
with  the  fluctuations  of  commerce  in  the  metropolis. 
The  period  of  the  Franco-Prussian  war  was  the  golden 
age,  the  apogee  of  the  Riet-Dijk.  Never  had  so  many 
fortunes  been  suddenly  made,  nor  had  parvenus  ever 
sprung  up  in  so  great  a  hurry  to  enjoy  them. 

Their  contemporaries  told  over  and  over  again,  while 
waiting  until  legend  should  have  immortalized  them, 
of  the  lupercalia  celebrated  in  these  temples  by  crafty 
and  sedate  looking  nabobs.  On  certain  days  of  record 
the  habitues  would  requisition  all  the  staff,  after  the 


THE  RIET-DIJK  263 

fashion  of  speculators  who  had  cornered  the  market. 

Bejard,  the  slave-dealer,  and  Saint-Fardier,  the 
Pasha  organized,  in  the  multicolored  little  salons  of 
Madame  Schmidt,  especially  in  the  red  room,  celebrated 
for  its  Boule  bed  with  groove  and  sliding  piece,  a  true 
state  bed,  orgies  in  which  both  Phoenician  pranks  and 
Roman  exuberance  were  resuscitated. 

On  these  occasions  Dupoissy,  the  jack-of-all-trades, 
fulfilled  the  platonic  functions  of  manager.  It  was  he 
who  conferred  with  Madame  Adele,  the  housekeeper, 
prepared  the  program  and  paid  the  bill.  While  the 
ever  headier  allegories  of  these  "masques,"  worthy  of 
a  Ben  Jonson  struck  with  satyriasis,  unrolled,  the 
smooth  factotum  sat  at  the  piano  and  strummed  circus 
jigs.  At  each  pause  the  actresses,  nude  or  clad  in  long 
stockings  and  black  velvet  masks,  begged  the  approba- 
tion of  their  disordered  masters,  and,  crouching  like 
kittens,  rubbed  their  moist  and  rice-powdered  flesh 
against  the  funereal  dress-suits. 

Such  was  the  bewildering  renown  of  these  brothels 
that,  during  the  days  of  carnival,  the  chaste  wives  of 
regular  customers  came  masked  to  these  diligent  hives 
— during  free  hours,  let  it  be  said — and,  escorted  by 
the  patron  and  the  patronne,  inspected  the  delicately 
tufted  little  cells,  gilded  like  reliquaries,  the  beds  con- 
trived, even  to  the  erotic  pictures,  to  fold  up  like  altar 
pieces. 

And,  were  one  to  believe  the  scandal  spread  by  their 
little  friends,  the  Mesdames  Saint-Fardier  had  not  been 
the  last  to  put  the  docility  and  amiability  of  their  hus- 
bands to  so  extravagant  a  test. 

At  the  Riet-Dijk  the  interloping  compounds  pro- 
duced by  the  gamy  civilization  of  New  Carthage  af- 
forded him  pessimistic  subjects  for  observation.    After 


264  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

white  nights,  he  watched  these  girls  at  their  toilette, 
saw  them  go  through  their  paces,  surprised  their  in- 
stinctive terror  at  the  imminent  visit  of  the  doctor; 
he  noted,  in  return,  their  easy  air  of  familiarity,  al- 
most that  of  woman  to  woman,  with  the  androgynal 
hairdresser. 

More  than  any  other  familiar  or  purveyor  to  these 
places,  Gay  the  Dalmatian  interested  him.  This  in- 
dustrious celibate,  clerk  at  one  hundred  and  fifty  francs 
a  month  in  the  office  of  a  ship-broker,  drew  annually 
fifteen  to  twenty  thousand  francs  in  commissions  from 
the  chief  houses  in  the  Riet-Dijk.  He  brought  to  the 
better  houses  the  captains  to  whom  his  employers,  the 
brokers,  had  attached  him  as  guide  during  their  stay 
in  Antwerp.  Gay  spoke  all  languages,  even  the  dia- 
lects and  idiom  of  minor  countries  and  the  slang  of 
the  most  distant  peopk.  Gay  brought  to  these  delicate 
transactions  a  probity  that  was  highly  appreciated. 
There  were  never  any  errors  in  his  bookkeeping. 
When  he  came,  every  three  months,  to  collect  his  com- 
missions, the  procurers  paid  their  intelligent  and  wide- 
awake recruiter  unhesitatingly.  On  these  occasions 
Gay  would  accept  a  glass  of  wine  or  a  liqueur,  to  drink 
the  health  of  Madame,  Monsieur,  and  their  boarders. 

Gay's  discretion  was  proverbial.  With  his  little  red 
mustache,  his  broad  grin,  his  neat  appearance  and  his 
affable  manner.  Gay  had  no  enemies  among  his  col- 
leagues. To  him  they  respectfully  applied  the  English 
adage:  The  right  man  in  the  right  place;  the  man 
worthy  of  his  place,  the  place  worthy  of  the  man. 

One  month  after  the  departure  of  the  emigrants, 
Paridael  was  accosted  one  morning  on  the  Plaine 
Falcon  by  Gay,  who,  rushed  and  out  of  breath,  threw 
this  terrible  news  full  in  his  face : 


THE  RIET-DIJK    .  26s 

"The  Gina  has  sunk  with  all  on  board,  off  the 
coast  of  Brazil !  .  .  .    It's  posted  at  Lloyds  1" 

And  the  Dalmatian  passed  on  without  turning, 
anxious  to  inform  as  many  people  as  he  could  of  the 
sinister  news,  never  for  a  moment  suspecting  the  blow 
that  he  had  just  dealt  Paridael. 

Laurent  reeled,  closed  his  eyes,  and  ended  by  col- 
lapsing on  a  doorstep,  his  legs  refusing  to  support  him 
any  longer.  The  syllables  of  the  fatal  words  tolled  a 
knell  in  his  ears.  When  he  came  to  his  senses  again 
he  said  to  himself : 

"The  blood  has  gone  to  my  head!  Apoplexy  is 
giving  me  a  warning.  Tve  had  a  moment  of  delirium, 
and  thought  I  heard  somebody  tell  me  that  .  .  .  hor- 
ror. But  things  like  that  don't  happen!"  But  he 
found  himself  remembering  all  too  clearly  Gay's  voice 
and  exotic  accent,  and  blinking  his  eyes  and  gazing 
down  the  Docks,  did  he  not  see  the  Dalmatian  hurry- 
off  into  the  distance  ? 

Laurent  dragged  himself  to  the  quai  Sainte  Alde- 
gonde,  where  the  offices  of  Bejard,  Saint  Fardier  and 
Company  were.  In  turning  the  Coin  des  Paresseux 
he  found  that  even  the  ineradicable  and  carefree  loaf- 
ers had  moved  farther  on  to  obtain  the  news.  Worthy 
Jean  Vingerhout  was  popular  even  with  this  phleg- 
matic tribe.  And  they  knew  him  to  be  on  board  the 
ill-fated  Gina, 

The  air  of  sorrowful  commiseration  among  these 
rebellious  loafers  who  were  crowding  upon  the  quay 
and  joining  the  mob  in  front  of  the  emigration  office 
prepared  Laurent  for  the  worst.  A  feeble  ray  of  hope, 
however,  continued  to  tremble  among  the  sudden  shad- 
ows in  his  soul.    It  would  not  have  been  the  first  time 


266  THE  NEW.  CARTHAGE 

that  ships  given  up  as  lost  had  returned  to  the  port 
where  they  were  being  mourned ! 

Laurent  broke  through  the  mob  of  dockers,  sailors 
and  tearful  women  whom  a  common  grief  had  brought 
together,  a  mob  made  even  more  tragic  by  the  presence 
of  many  wretched  looking  families  of  emigrants,  desig- 
nated for  the  next  sailing,  perhaps  marked  for  the 
next  wreck!  Lamentations  and  sobs  arose  at  inter- 
vals above  the  black  and  suffocating  silence. 

Laurent  succeeded  in  worming  himself  through  the 
crowd  as  far  as  the  counter  in  the  office. 

"Is  it  true,  Monsieur,  what  they  are  saying  in  the 
city?  .  .  ." 

He  stammered  each  word  and  affected  a  doubtful 
infonation. 

"Oh,  yes !  .  .  .  How  many  times  do  I  have  to  re- 
peat it  to  you?  Long  enough  to  die  of  hunger,  at 
least !  .  .  .  Get  out,  now,  and  leave  us  some  peace,  and 
be  hanged  to  you !" 

At  these  abominable  words  that  only  a  Saint-Far- 
dier  could  be  capable  of  pronouncing,  Paridael  hurled 
himself  against  the  partition  between  himself  and  the 
inner  offices. 

The  door  burst  inward. 

Laurent  followed  it  and  struck  the  individual  who 
had  just  spoken  to  him,  and  who  was  none  other  than 
the  former  partner  of  Cousin  William,  full  in  the 
face,  with  the  fury  of  a  mad  bull. 

The  Pasha  had  always  had  the  soul  of  a  convict- 
warden  or  a  slave-driver,  and  the  ex-slave-dealer  Be- 
jard  had  found  in  him  the  implacable  brute  whom  he 
required  to  plan  and  expedite  his  traffic  in  souls. 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  intervention  of  his  clerks, 
who  tore  him  away  from  his  aggressor,  the  miserable 


THE  RIET-DIJK  267 

man  would  have  been  killed  on  the  spot.  Laurent  had 
half  strangled  him,  and  in  both  of  his  clenched  fists 
he  clutched  Saint-Fardier's  pepper  and  salt  whiskers. 

While  several  of  the  employes  were  overpowering 
Laurent,  whose  rage  had  not  been  satisfied,  some  of 
their  comrades  had  hurried  the  wounded  man,  mad 
with  fear,  into  Bejard's  private  office,  where  he  did 
not  stop  moaning  and  calling  the  police. 

The  provoking  and  unnatural  words  of  Saint-Far- 
dier  had  been  heard  by  others  beside  Laurent,  and, 
learning  what  was  taking  place,  the  crowd  outside  par- 
took of  his  indignation  and  would  have  torn  to  shreds 
the  policeman  who  dared  try  and  arrest  him.  It 
threatened  even  to  drag  the  partners  from  the  retreat 
and  execute  immediate  justice  upon  them.  So  that 
Bejard,  hearing  the  thunder  of  hoots  and  calls  from 
the  crowd,  thought  it  prudent  to  push  Laurent  into  the 
street  and  return  him  to  his  terrible  friends.  Then, 
in  the  excitement  produced  by  the  reappearance  of  the 
hostage,  Bejard  quickly  shut  the  door  behind  him. 
Dismissing  his  men  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  he  dragged 
the  pitiable  Saint-Fardier  through  a  back  door  into  a 
little  deserted  alley  bordered  by  shops  and  warehouses, 
from  which  they  regained,  not  without  tacking  about 
to  avoid  the  quays  and  too  frequented  streets,  their 
residences  in  the  new  city. 

"We  shall  catch  that  loafer  again!"  said  Bejard 
to  Saint-Fardier,  who  was  rubbing  his  bleeding  cheeks 
with  his  handkerchief,  as  they  hurried  along.  "We 
can't  think  of  locking  him  up.  We  can't  even  think 
of  it  for  a  long  time  to  come,  old  fellow,  for  this 
little  accident  has  afready  made  too  much  noise,  and 
it  wouldn't  be  good  to  have  the  law  prying  too  closely 
into  our  business.    Wait  till  these  dogs  have  finished 


268  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

howling!  If  they  continue  barking  the  way  they  have 
been  this  morning,  they'll  be  hoarse  by  tonight !  And 
then  we  shall  settle  our  account  with  Master  Laurent !" 

"After  all,  the  affair  isn't  so  bad  for  us  .  .  .  (here 
the  execrable  trafficker  forgot  himself  so  far  as  to  rub 
his  hands).  .  .  .  The  ship  wouldn't  have  lasted  so 
much  longer.  The  rats  had  already  left  it  because  so 
much  water  leaked  into  the  hold.  An  old  wooden 
shoe,  the  insurance  on  which  will  net  us  double  what 
it  was  worth!  And  if  we  lose  the  bounties  paid  in 
advance  to  some  of  the  vigorous  and  flourishing  emi- 
grants, like  that  Vingerhout — you  remember,  Berg- 
mans* tool,  the  leader  of  the  elevator  riot.  And  now 
he's  with  his  fathers! — after  all,  we  collect  the  in- 
surance on  those  of  the  crew  who  were  drowned. 
There's  some  compensation  in  that!" 

The  ship-owner  came  in  for  dinner  as  if  nothing 
had  happened.  Gine  thought  his  expression  bestially 
jovial  and  crafty.  At  dessert,  as  he  meticulously  cut 
a  succulent  melon  and  poured  himself  a  glass  of  old 
Bordeaux  with  the  ceremony  of  a  taster,  he  announced 
in  a  hardly  detailed  fashion  the  shocking  and  complete 
loss  of  the  ship  which  she  had  baptized. 

Without  noticing  the  sudden  pallor  that  overspread 
his  wife's  face,  he  entered  into,  details  and  figured  up 
the  number  of  victims.  She  begged  him  to  stop ;  he 
insisted,  and  pushed  his  sarcasm  to  the  point  of  con- 
juring up  to  her  that  launching  at  the  Fulton  Dock- 
yards. Then,  utterly  sick,  she  left  the  room  and  took 
refuge  in  her  own  suite,  where  she  thought  of  the  evil 
presage  which  certain  onlookers  had  found  in  her  hesi- 
tation and  maladroitness  when  the  boat  was  to  have 
been  cut  loose  upon  the  ways. 

Laurent,  after  having  escaped  from  the  hands  of 


THE  RIET-DIJK  269 

the  crowd  thar  questioned  him  about  the  affair,  ran 
bareheaded — he  had  forgotten  to  pick  up  his  cap  after 
the  flight — without  seeing  or  hearing  anything,  to  his 
garret,  and,  tumbling  upon  his  bed  as  he  used  to  do  at 
the  Dobouziez's,  shed  the  tears  that  his  fury  had  driven 
back  into  his  bosom.  He  paused  in  his  crying  only 
to  repeat  these  names:  "Jean!  .  .  .  Vincent!  .  .  . 
Siska!  .  .  .^  Henriette!  .  .  .  Pierket!  .  .  ." 
'  Afterward,  no  day  went  by  that  did  not  find  him 
murderously  humming  to  himself,  as  though  inoculat- 
ing himself  with  a  sweet,  but  very  powerful  poison, 
the  "Ou  peut-on  etre  mieuxf"  of  the  Willeghem  band. 

Without  suspecting  the  transformation  that  his 
haughty  cousin  was  undergoing,  Laurent  henceforth 
confused  the  two  Ginas,  the  woman  and  the  boat;  it 
was  Madame  Bejard  who,  in  order  to  kill  his  good  and 
sainted  Henriette,  had  dedicated  the  ship,  her  godson, 
to  shipwreck.  And  to  think  that  he  had  for  one  mo- 
ment been  in  love  with  that  Regina,  on  the  night  of 
Bejard's  election !  At  present,  he  flattered  himself  that 
he  would  always  curse  her ! 

His  devotion  to  the  dear  dead  soon  became  con- 
fused, in  his  hatred  of  the  oligarchic  society,  not  only 
with  his  love  for  the  simple  working-people,  but  with 
an  extreme  sympathy  for  the  poorest  and  the  most  dis- 
graced, even  for  those  wretches  who  had  fallen  to  the 
very  dregs  of  society.  Finally  he  gave  himself  up  to 
that  need  for  anarchy  which  had  fermented  within  him 
since  his  earliest  infancy,  which  rent  his  heart  and  en- 
tered into  his  deepest  spirit. 

It  was  toward  the  condemned  of  earth  that  his  vast 
desire  for  communion  and  tenderness  oriented  itself. 


IV 
CONTUMACY 

Laurent  began  by  procuring  lodgings  at  the  farthest 
end  of  Borgerhout,  near  a  railroad  cut,  not  far  from  a 
siding  used  only  for  baggage  cars.  It  was  a  comer 
of  the  suggestive  region  that  he  had  formerly  observed 
from  the  Dobouziez's  garret.  The  urban  agglomera- 
tion here  degenerated  into  a  suburb  of  doubtful  char- 
acter, sparsely  sown  with  houses,  as  if  the  blocks  had 
broken  ranks,  pot-houses  of  all  kinds,  pounds,  the 
workshops  of  marble-cutters,  figurists  and  knackers. 
Soot  on  the  walls,  grass  between  the  cobblestones. 
For  monuments:  a  gasometer  whose  huge  iron  bell 
moved  up  and  down  in  its  masonry  cage,  equipped 
with  jointed  arms :  an  abattoir  towards  which  drovers 
led  their  unsuspicious  flocks,  and  a  despotic  barracks 
that  swallowed  up  no  less  passive  victims ;  all  dirty  red 
buildings,  of  a  blood-tinged  color. 

From  hour  to  hour  the  whistle  of  locomotives,  the 
horn  of  the  crossing-guard  and  the  factory  clock 
echoed  each  other,  or  the  bugles  of  pitiable  conscripts 
were  wedded  with  the  death  rattle  of  flocks  of  sheep. 
Out  to  the  ramparts  of  the  fortifications  empty  lots 
alternated  with  yards  in  which  itchy  dogs  were  rooting ; 
embryonic  gardens  adjoined  insipid  cottages  strayed 

270 


CONTUMACY  271 

into  this  harsh  neighborhood  like  a  sunny  disposition 
amongst  grouches. 

Little  rag-pickers  had  long  ago  picked  the  tar  away 
from  the  boards  of  fences,  or  broken  them  down. 
Armed  with  deep  burlap  bags,  they  scaled  the  fence, 
after  having  explored  the  abandoned  enclosure  with 
their  eyes.  Searching  about  with  their  sticks  and  their 
feet,  they  rejoiced  when  they  found  the  skin  of  a 
carrion.  They  fought  over  their  find  as  if  it  were  a 
gold  nugget,  or  tore  it  away  from  the  puppies  who 
were  gnawing  it  growlingly. 

The  vicissitudes  of  this  gang  were  for  a  long  time 
the  only  distraction  of  Paridael's  mornings.  Later  he 
discovered  more  abstract  subjects  for  study. 

Near  the  gatekeeper's,  a  tall,  well-set  man,  dark 
and  husky,  whose  straightforward  face  stood  out  in 
relief  against  the  grimace  and  convulsions  of  the  dis- 
trict and  of  its  knavish  natives,  had  been  paying  court 
to  a  plump  blonde  girl,  as  radiant  as  a  field  of  corn,  the 
rose  of  whose  flesh  was  slightly  streaked  with  russet, 
with  delicate  red  lips  and  coaxing  eyes.  Her  fresh 
clothes  betokened  her  a  lady's  maid,  and  her  pretty 
white  cap  and  spotless  apron  told  Paridael  immedi- 
ately that  she  was  a  stranger  to  the  quarter.  Without 
doubt,  it  was  on  a  chance  stroll  that  she  had  passed 
this  way  and  remarked  the  handsome  youth.  She 
was  not  the  first  to  be  attracted  by  the  black  eyes, 
the  curly  mop  and  the  serious,  but  not  sullen,  manner 
of  the  gatekeeper.  He  had,  besides,  a  military  manner 
of  wearing  his  cap  that  was  simply  irresistible,  and  his 
velvet  jacket  set  off  his  figure  like  a  hussar's  pelisse! 
The  girls  of  the  neighborhood,  and  not  only  those  who 
lived  nearby,  passed  by  regretfully  as  they  ogled 
the  busy  worker.    The  more  daring  made  advances  to 


^y'z  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

him,  did  not  refrain  from  telling  him  their  whim,  all 
the  while  pretending  to  joke,  and  barbing  with  a  covet- 
ous glance  the  joke  that  they  cast  at  him. 

The  line  being  unimportant,  he  filled  the  offices  of 
crossing-keeper  and  switchman.  The  upkeep  of  his 
little  station  kept  him  as  busy  as  though  he  were  a 
simple  workman  in  a  gang.  The  flighty  girls  invari- 
ably found  him  busy.  Deaf  to  their  lures,  perhaps  a 
little  proud,  and  judging  them  to  be  too  free  and  too 
trivial,  he  worked  harder  than  ever,  and  when  he  had 
finished  blowing  his  horn,  presenting,  unfurling  and 
planting  his  flag,  opening  and  closing  the  crossing- 
gate,  he  hurried  to  fill  his  wheelbarrow  with  sand, 
reballast  the  tracks,  and  oil  his  switch. 

The  white-capped  lady's  maid  did  not  allow  herself 
to  be  rebuffed  by  his  disdainful  and  bizarre  manner. 
Prettier  and  of  a  better  type  than  the  girls  of  the  quar- 
ter, at  the  same  time  more  discreet  and  more  alluring, 
she  gently  tamed  the  savage.  He  began  to  straighten 
up  when  he  was  bending  over,  working  on  the  tracks, 
and  slowly  lifting  his  cap  in  answer  to  her  greeting;  the 
following  week  he  came  over  to  her,  blushing  and 
somewhat  foolish,  to  talk  about  the  rain;  the  next 
time,  leaning  upon  the  gate,  he  told  her  cock-and-bull 
stories,  which  she  swallowed  as  though  they  were 
words  of  the  gospel.  One  would  have  said  that  in 
order  to  plague  them  the  blustering  trains  ran  by  in 
greater  numbers  on  that  day.  But  she  waited  until  the 
young  man  had  finished  his  many  drudging  tasks, 
followed  his  movements,  won  by  his  graceful 
carriage,  and  they  took  up  the  interrupted  conversa- 
tion. .  .  . 

The  gradual  union  of  these  two  simple  people 
greatly  amused  Laurent  Paridael,  conquered  as  he  had 


CONTUMACY  273 

been  by  their  tempting  blonde  and  dark  beauty,  so  har- 
moniously different. 

A  while  before  he  had  become  acquainted  with  the 
guard ;  in  off-hours  he  offered  him  cigars  and  treated 
him  to  an  occasional  drink,  and  had  him  explain  the 
details  of  his  work.  He  complimented  the  guard  upon 
his  conquest,  and  when  he  found  them  together,  in- 
quired with  a  quick  look  about  the  progress  of  their 
affair,  and  the  slightly  embarrassed  laugh  and  lively 
look  of  the  guard  answered  him  eloquently.  As  for 
the  girl,  she  was  so  busy  making  sheep's  eyes  at  her 
gallant  that  she  never  saw  the  signals  of  intelligence 
and  interest  that  Paridael  brought  to  their  love.  This 
happiness  of  others,  this  idyll  of  two  young  and 
handsome  people  both  beautified  and  tortured  the 
whimsical  Paridael,  the  unacknowledged  lover  of 
Gina. 

However,  they  could  no  longer  restrain  their  desire 
for  each  other.  She  finished  by  joining  him  in  his 
little  wooden  hut  on  the  nights  when  he  was  on  duty. 
One  winter  night  of  snow  and  gale  Laurent  saw  them, 
through  the  half -opened  door,  crouching  coldly  in  a 
corner,  the  girl  on  the  fellow's  knees.  There  was  no 
light,  but  the  red  glow  of  the  cast-iron  stove  betrayed 
the  union  of  their  silhouettes. 

A  spree  on  the  other  side  of  the  city  separated  Lau- 
rent from  his  friends.  Upon  returning  from  it  he  was 
surprised  to  find  that  the  young  man  was  neither  in 
his  little  house,  nor  on  the  tracks.  If  Laurent  remem- 
bered rightly,  this  was  the  week  during  which  the  boy 
was  on  day  service.  Was  he  ill?  Had  they  replaced 
him  ?  Paridael  worried  about  his  unaccustomed  absence 
as  though  the  poor  devil  had  been  bound  to  his  heart 
by  the  ties  of  long  friendship.    It  was  worse  when,  at 


274  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

nightfall,  another  than  the  waited-for  person  came  to 
relieve  the  day-watchman.  Giving  in  once  again  to  his 
timidity,  to  the  bashfulness  that  entered  his  slightest 
sympathies,  Laurent  did  not  dare  inquire  for  the  de- 
serter. Moreover,  Laurent  did  not  know  his  name. 
He  would  have  had  to  describe  him,  enter  into  ex- 
planations, and  he  imagined  that  his  overtures  would 
seem  strange.  He  went  home  again,  but  the  thought 
of  the  absent  one  tortured  him  all  night,  and  the  horn, 
blown  by  another,  seemed  to  call  for  help  and  sound 
an  alarm. 

The  next  day,  the  guard  was  not  at  his  post.  Lau- 
rent decided  to  speak  to  his  substitute. 

Then  he  heard  a  dismal  epilogue. 

In  flagrant  disobedience  to  all  rules,  under  threat 
of  fine  and  discharge,  at  the  risk  of  being  found  by 
the  travelling  inspector,  the  lover  had  not  quit  his  mis- 
tress. But,  one  night,  they  were  so  tightly  enmeshed, 
so  absolutely  lost,  lips  against  lips,  that  he  had  neither 
the  strength  nor  the  presence  of  mind  to  signal  a  train 
and  bar  the  crossing.  Perhaps  he,  too,  counted  upon 
the  utter  solitude  and  loneliness  of  the  road  at  that 
late  hour !  A  frightful  rattle  of  distress,  followed  by 
a  volley  of  oaths,  aroused  him  from  his  ecstacy.  When 
he  had  rushed  to  the  gate,  he  found  that  a  train  had 
just  stopped  a  few  meters  away  from  his  post  after 
having  crushed  an  old  couple  to  jelly. 

Certain  of  having  to  pay  dearly  for  his  negligence, 
the  guilty  man  had  not  awaited  the  result  of  the  in- 
quest, but  had  disappeared  while  the  police  and  de- 
tectives were  looking  for  him.  He  had  so  much  the 
more  reason  for  fearing  the  severities  of  the  law  since 
the  two  old  people  killed  during  that  night  of  love 
were  very  rich  and  very  miserly,  and  their  hypocritical 


CONTUMACY  275 

heirs  owed  it  to  their  memory  to  relentlessly  pursue 
the  agent  of  their  massacre,  although  at  the  bottom  of 
their  hearts  the  heirs  doubtlessly  were  blessing  the  in- 
teresting homicide. 

The  unlucky  girl  disappeared  at  the  same  time  as 
her  lover,  and  no  one  knew  where  they  were  hiding. 
Laurent  never  saw  them  again.  But,  after  that  fatal 
adventure,  each  time  he  heard  the  hoarse  cry  of  a 
crossing-keeper's  horn  or  saw  the  black  tank  of  a 
gasometer  overhanging  a  surly  suburban  district,  there 
rose  before  his  eyes  the  two  young  people  leaning 
against  the  crossing-gate;  he,  swarthy  as  a  faun,  clad 
in  a  reddish-brown  smock,  his  brass  horn  hung  over 
his  shoulder  by  a  red  woolen  band ;  she,  blonde,  rose, 
ready  to  swoon,  and,  with  her  white  cap  and  apron, 
as  appetizing  as  the  cloth  at  a  banquet. 

To  shake  off  his  sorrow,  Laurent  instantly  changed 
his  lodgings,  and  travelled  about  exploring  the  Ant- 
werpian  country  made  dear  to  him  by  the  peasant  emi- 
grants. Willeghem  became,  even  for  him,  the  object 
of  a  pilgrimage. 

Without  leaving  his  country,  without  ceasing  to 
bathe  in  its  sunshine  and  breath  its  atmosphere,  Lau- 
rent experienced  the  deadly  devotion,  the  voluptuous 
martyrdom  of  an  exile.  He  saw  and  perceived  the 
smallest  objects  of  the  land  with  a  sensuous  intensity 
known  only  by  those  who  return  after  a  long  absence, 
or  who  are  leaving  forever ;  those  who  are  resuscitated 
or  who  are  dying.  It  is  only  on  native  shores  that  the 
three  kingdoms  of  nature  are  adorned  with  this  fresh- 
ness, this  youth,  this  eternal  resurrection. 

His  fervent  piety  extended  from  the  overworked 
beings  and  the  eccentric  quarters  of  the  city  to  the 
sloppy  or  arid  country,  to  the  hallucinating  sky,  to  the 


276  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

taciturn  peasants,  to  those  plains  of  the  Campine  which 
the  tourist  avoids  as  he  would  remorse. 

Braving  hurricanes  and  tempests,  he  was  out  in  all 
weathers. 

In  the  full  autumn  drizzle  he  often  stood  watching 
a  peasant  pacing  the  fields  with  long  steps,  and  sowing 
with  a  full  and  rhythmic  gesture.  In  summer,  a 
reaper  gravely  sharpening  his  scythe  on  the  grindstone 
held  him  fast,  like  one  of  the  faithful  watching  a  sym- 
bolic episode  of  the  divine  office.  He  wandered  about 
all  the  villages  near  Willeghem,  where  he  had  seen 
that  vision,  often  returned  to  the  same  place,  but  al- 
ways suffering  from  the  same  vague  shame,  did  not 
dare  approach  the  sculptural  peasant. 

He  was  deeply  moved,  too,  by  the  slight  odor  of 
manure,  that  April  evening  when  a  peasant  walked 
about  with  his  pail  sprinkling  his  tardy  soil  with  ladle- 
fulls.  The  contempt  of  this  rustic  for  the  tender,  deli- 
cate spring,  the  phlegm  of  this  large-breeched,  tanned, 
tow-headed  peasant  busying  himself  with  his  inelegant, 
but  useful  job,  the  violent  contrast  between  the  sub- 
stantial lout  and  the  ambient  archness  of  the  season 
conquered  Laurent  Paridael  there  and  then,  and  in 
the  same  minute,  the  view  that  he  had  been  enjoying 
seemed  insipid  and  sophisticated.  He  could  but  look 
at  the  young  farmer.  This  same  rustic,  accosted  by 
Laurent,  stopped  mixing  his  compound  and  stimulating 
the  soil,  and  brightening  up,  spoke  to  Laurent  quite 
simply  as  he  scratched  his  ear : 

"Yes,  Monsieur,  four  of  us,  all  like  me,  made  our 
first  communion  the  same  day  that  we  were  drawn  for 
service !" 

And  this  coincidence  of  the  holy  sacrament  with 
the  brutal  conscription  never  left  Laurent's  brain,  and 


CONTUMACY  277 

was  inseparable  from  a  mixture  of  paschal  incense  and 
of  filthy  mixture,  like  the  odor  of  day  upon  which  this 
remarkable  fact  had  been  told  him. 

With  this  impression  was  closely  linked  that  of  a 
morning  spent  in  the  pasture  with  a  crowd  of  cow- 
herds and  milkmaids.  A  large  hoydenish  girl  com- 
manded the  tattered  band  and  supervised  the  cooking 
of  the  frog's  legs,  for  the  dressing  of  which  she  had 
requisitioned  all  the  butter  in  the  group.  Alert  little 
hands  heaped  up  under  the  pot  faggots  and  dead  wood 
as  though  in  a  camp.  The  roasting  of  the  stew  seemed 
an  artificial  murmur  of  the  leaves. 

Paridael  frisked  that  day  like  a  savage ;  he  had  even 
forgotten  his  mourning  and  his  rancor,  but  this  rare 
gaiety  fell  away  in  less  than  an  instant.  One  of  the 
children,  glutted  with  gin  by  a  waggoner,  slept  against 
the  hedgerow ;  in  vain  they  shook  him,  he  only  snored, 
slobbering  and  besotted  as  an  alcoholic ;  shaggy  cater- 
pillars produced  a  little  quiver  beneath  his  red  skin, 
and  raging,  moist  gad-flies  that,  a  little  way  off,  were 
making  a  troop  of  chickens  sneeze  and  squawk,  drew 
from  time  to  time  a  little  drop  of  blood,  the  color  of 
crushed  mulberry,  from  the  sleeper,  or  a  squeal  that 
cried  to  heaven  for  vengeance. 

Many  times  Paridael  ascended  or  descended  the 
long,  straight  Flemish  canals  on  canal-boats.  He  lived 
the  life  of  the  lightermen,  partook  of  their  meals  and 
slept  in  their  cabins,  small  and  neat  as  a  dolFs  boudoir, 
lent  a  hand  to  his  hosts,  but  spent  the  greater  part  of 
his  time  doing  absolutely  nothing,  tasting  the  joy  of 
wasting  time  and  of  gliding  with  the  stream  without 
moving  and  of  being,  in  his  turn,  the  immobile,  passive, 
irresponsible  thing  before  which  filed  the  willows, 
bowed  the  osier  beds,  trooped  the  villages  and  belfrys. 


278  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

And  the  manoeuvres,  always  the  same,  repeated  at  dif- 
ferent stops,  in  lock-chambers  constructed  all  on  the 
one  model,  the  halts  while  waiting  for  lockage,  the 
trade  boats  lining  up,  touching  each  other  in  the  wait- 
ing place,  while  the  lock-keeper  worked  the  sluice  and 
the  boats  descended  on  the  lowering  water!  And  the 
same  jocular  conversations  were  begun  from  bridge 
to  bridge,  by  the  lock-keepers  and  the  boatmen. 

Sometimes  an  unforeseen  modulation  intruded  it- 
self into  the  doleful  flourish. 

As  soon  as  the  boats  had  found  their  places  in  line, 
one  of  the  men  profited  by  the  delay  to  jump  to  the 
shore,  root  up  a  clump  of  turf  with  his  pocket-knife, 
and,  regaining  the  boat,  busied  himself  with  putting 
the  live  earth  into  the  cage  of  the  inevitable  lark.  Sen- 
sible of  this  attention,  the  lovable  captive  welcomed 
the  feast  with  a  deafening  trill.  But  at  this  unseason- 
able joy,  the  old  boss,  who,  never  being  able  to  finish 
a  job,  had  been  scolding  and  storming  at  his  helper, 
spied  him  at  the  stern  of  the  boat  and  called  him  down 
at  the  very  moment  when  he  was  hurriedly  closing 
the  cage.  Ah!  the  do-nothing!  For  him  that  taunt 
and  that  blow !  The  quitter  pocketed  the  scolding  and 
took  the  blow,  reeled  stoically  without  a  complaint  or  a 
retort.  His  large  mouth  trembled  nervously,  he  red- 
dened beneath  his  tan,  but  his  great  eyes  did  not  tear. 
He  was  disarmed  less  by  the  joy  of  the  bird  than  by 
the  affectionate  and  pitying  look  cast  him  by  the  boss's 
wife.  Ah!  to  win  that  dear  woman,  he  would  will- 
ingly undergo  the  boss's  brutality.  He  cared  as  little 
for  the  husband's  rage  as  for  the  barking  of  a 
dog. 

And  without  bitterness,  he  went  on  with  his  work. 
He  went  on,  too,  with  his  song.     Brave  boy!     The 


CONTUMACY  279 

locks  opened  again,  the  tow-boat  again  fished  up  its 
endless  hawser,  and  from  one  boat  to  the  other  the 
sailors  bent  over  their  oars. 

The  boat  began  moving,  taking  up  the  line  again. 
Slowly,  straight  on  toward  Rupel  the  file  descended. 

Laurent  also  wandered  by  stage-coach  through  the 
far-away  and,  nevertheless,  near-by  districts.  Between 
Beveren  and  Calloo  in  the  Waes  district  he  saw  the 
rhythmic  fall  of  the  flail  threshing  wheat.  A  girl,  her 
dress  unfastened  at  the  bosom,  shining  as  the  apple  of 
the  district,  ran  up  and  climbed  on  the  bank  to  the 
roadway,  just  in  time  to  catch  the  package  flung  her 
'by  the  driver.  With  a  quick  movement  she  broke  the 
seal,  hesitated  a  moment  before  unfolding  the  letter, 
then  decided  to  look  it  through. 

Not  a  muscle  of  her  face  moved;  but  Laurent 
thought  he  heard  the  panting  of  her  heart.  And  the 
motionless  threshers — two  bronzes  rose-tinged  in  the 
half-light  of  the  barn,  bathed  in  a  sweat  more  volatile 
than  liquid — ^the  threshers  waited  for  the  news  with 
a  certain  solemnity.  A  letter  from  "our  Jan,"  her 
brother,  the  "son  of  the  house,"  or  "my  Frans,"  the 
betrothed,  a  soldier  at  Antwerp?  Had  he  had  an  un- 
lucky hand  in  a  scuffle,  was  he  languishing  in  the  mili- 
tary hospital,  did  the  letter  come  from  the  prison  of 
Vilvorde?  Laurent  posed  all  these  questions  to  him- 
self. He  burned  to  ask  the  young  girl.  She  entered 
the  farmhouse.  He  would  have  always  to  wait  for 
the  answer.  The  diligence  pursued  its  course.  The 
little  bells  tinkled  laughingly  on  the  collars  of  the 
horses,  the  whip  cracked  without  shame;  it  was  tedi- 
ously hot,  one  of  those  noonday  heats  that  make  us 
curse  the  sun  and  lament  winter.  The  clock  of  Calloo 
rang  out  its  melancholy  midday,  the  most  tedious  hour 


28o  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

of  all  to  peal,  it  seemed  to  say.  .  .  .  The  crickets 
were  rasping  their  wing-shells  ragingly.  And  Lau- 
rent would  always  see,  tomorrow,  afterward,  fatally, 
the  unique  farm  of  the  trip,  the  crushed  peasant-girl, 
the  two  half -nude  bronze-colored  boys.  .  .  .  For  his 
second  look  had  told  him  that  the  news  was  bad  news. 
He  would  have  liked  to  retrace  his  road,  console  the 
beautiful  girl;  he  felt  himself  capable  of  watching, 
with  them,  the  shade  of  the  dead.  But  it  was  over. 
Far,  far  back  already;  he  would  never  come  over  this 
road  again  in  his  life.  But  he  had  one  memory  the 
more  to  weigh  down  his  heart  during  the  suffocating 
heat  of  the  dog-days.  The  tolling  of  a  village  bell, 
the  rapture  of  the  flies  in  the  sunlight,  the  grinding  of 
crickets*  wings  would  always  reproach  him  with  the 
vision  of  folk  whom  he  could  have  pitied  and 
loved.  .  .  . 

Thus,  a  quantity  of  scenes,  to  which  the  crowd  and 
professional  observers  would  have  been  indifferent,  a 
face  barely  glimpsed,  a  passerby  jostled,  a  look  inter- 
cepted, a  typical  manner,  left  ineradicable  impressions 
upon  his  life.  He  sorrowed  over  the  loss  of  compan- 
ions of  a  short  journey,  over  meetings  without  a  se- 
quel; inconsolable  for  the  bifurcation  of  roads  which 
destiny  imposes  upon  the  best  matched  travellers. 

Continual  nostalgias  plagued  him.  He  was  seized 
with  a  shooting  desire  to  conjure  up,  at  no  matter  what 
cost,  these  fleeting  visions ;  he  craved  for  these  beloved 
apparitions,  and  time,  far  from  effacing  them  from 
his  memory,  only  improved  them  and  gave  them  new 
strength,  like  noble  wine. 

A  handsome  and  noble  face  of  the  people,  a  tall, 
swarthy  lad  with  deep,  inquiring  eyes,  leaning  upon 
the  door  of  a  third-class  railway  coach,  in  a  train 


CONTUMACY  281 

which  passed  his.  And  no  more  was  needed  for  Lau- 
rent to  link  to  him  this  being  whom  he  would  never 
see  again.  For  eternity  he  would  relish  that  too  rapid 
minute;  not  one  jot  of  its  atmosphere  would  be  lost: 
it  was  near  a  viaduct,  and  in  the  air  undulated  an  odor 
of  stagnant  water  and  the  song  of  a  track-walker.  A 
foul  effluence  and  a  sad  melopoeia  framed  the  supreme 
nobility  of  attitude  and  great  affective  eyes  of  the  un- 
known. .  .  . 

Such  incidents  became  for  Laurent  powerful  pic- 
tures, of  a  magnetic  color,  of  a  highly  conceived  re- 
lief, but  with,  in  addition,  perfume,  music  and  symbol, 
and  the  indefinable  that  differentiated  from  all  others 
the  chosen  object  or  person.  What  masterpieces,  he 
thought,  if  anyone  could  succeed  in  rendering  these 
pictures  as  he  himself  reviewed  them  and  ruminated 
them,  with  closed  eyes ! 

This  one  also ! 

A  farm-hand  was  taking  back  to  the  stable  his  un- 
yoked, but  not  yet  unharnessed  horses.  The  fore-parts 
of  the  team  had  already  disappeared  into  the  darkness ; 
only  their  rumps  shone  in 'the  half-light  within  the 
barn-door.  Outside,  the  pole  clenched  in  his  fist,  the 
farm-hand,  a  hardy  fellow,  wide  of  shoulder,  in  shirt 
sleeves,  seen  from  the  back,  was  bending  over  slightly 
toward  the  right,  in  the  action  of  holding  back  his  too 
impatient  animals.  One  could  have  heard  his  "hiuho !" 
or  the  chatter  of  his  coaxing  words,  or  his  imperative 
oath,  but  one  remembered,  abpve  all,  the  pattern  of 
his  gesture  so  unique,  harmonious  and  almost  sub- 
limated, and  inseparable  from  the  man  himself  was 
that  muscular  pose. 

With  the  mental  image  of  this  gesture,  Laurent  re- 
created the  scene  in  all  its  accessory  details.    In  truth. 


282  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

it  wholly  resided  in  the  movement  which  he  had  tried 
to  illustrate  to  Marbol. 

Despairing  of  making  himself  understood,  he 
dragged  the  painter  by  force  to  the  farm  where  the 
capital  pose  had  manifested  itself.  They  stood  lying 
in  wait  toward  evening,  but  after  having  vainly 
watched  for  the  model,  Laurent  inquired  for  him  f rdm 
the  farm  people. 

They  could  hardly  recognize  their  equal,  or  at  least 
one  of  themselves,  from  the  exalted  portrait  that  he 
drew  of  the  fellow. 

"Oh,  yes !  It's  'Curly,' "  said  one  of  the  women 
with  an  hypocritical  indifference, — for  she  must  have 
closely  known  and  admired  her  fellow-workman.  "The 
master  dismissed  him  a  week  ago,  and  we  don't  know 
where  he  has  hired  himself  out." 

"To  have  such  a  mime  under  one's  eyes  and  dis- 
charge him!"  cried  Laurent  with  an  indignation  of 
which  the  materialistic  laborers  understood  noth- 
ing. 

Marbol  tried  to  persuade  his  friend  that  they  would 
again  find  the  same  attitude,  the  same  practised  play 
of  muscles  in  other  subjects  of  the  same  type  as  the 
unique  discharged  hand.  And,  in  order  to  acquiesce 
in  Paridael's  mania  and  compensate  him  for  the  de- 
plorable loss,  they  watched  the  return  of  many  gangs 
of  workmen.  But,  at  the  awaited  moment,  their  ap- 
pearance, their  pose  and  their  awkward  gestures  were 
but  a  parody,  a  pale  counterfeit,  an  almost  stupid  and 
pitiful  symbol  of  the  posture  of  "Curly."  Marbol 
would  have  been  satisfied  with  them  and  even  took  his 
pad  from  his  pocket  in  order  to  note  down  this  char- 
acteristic moment  of  farm-labor,  but  Laurent  would 
not  let  him  begin  the  sketch,  and,  when  Marbol  teased 


CONTUMACY  283 

him  about  his  exclusiveness,  he  replied  with  convic- 
tion: 

"Laugh  all  you  want,  my  friend.  But  I*d  have  you 
know  that  in  order  to  secure  for  my  eyes  the  volup- 
tuousness and  the  caress  of  that  young  blackguard's 
gesture  of  the  other  day,  I'd  willingly  become  a  farmer 
myself,  in  order  to  hire  that  helot.  Perhaps  he  is  a 
bad  lot,  an  intractable  character,  a  dishonest  servant, 
but,  though  he  were  a  drunkard,  a  thief  and  a  rake, 
I'd  pardon  his  vices  as  little  peccadilloes  because  of  his 
superior  plasticity.  He  and  the  others  whom  we  have 
been  watching  do  not  lack  grace,  and  I  agree  with  you 
that  their  movements  are  identical.  Briefly,  it*s  the 
same  receipt,  the  same  broth;  only  the  marrow-bone 
is  lacking." 

"Well,  it's  a  good  thing  you  don't  know  in  what 
kitchen  this  marrow-bone,  as  you  call  him,  has  gone 
to  give  a  relish  to  the  soup  1" 

"Yes,  because  I  should  be  capable  of  engaging  him 
at  once." 

And,  as  Marbol  began  to  laugh  harder  than  ever: 

"Oh!  keep  quiet,"  begged  his  friend.  "If  you  were 
really  an  artist,  you  would  understand  that !" 

And  in  returning,  downcast  and  sullen,  he  did  not 
again  open  his  lips  the  whole  way. 

Little  by  little  the  poise,  the  good  sense,  the  whole- 
some mind  of  Bergmans  displeased  him.  He  began 
to  weary  of  his  friends.  He  now  went  so  far  as  to 
find  his  inseparable  triumvirate  too  indifferent,  too 
prudent.  He  reproached  the  painter  with  the  thickness 
and  the  opacity  of  his  pictures,  his  lack  of  curiosity  and 
comprehension.  The  wholesomeness,  the  luxuriance, 
the  glad  optimism  of  Vyveloy's  genius  no  longer  pro- 
cured him  the  joy  of  former  days. 


284  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

His  outbursts  greatly  amused  his  little  circle.  They 
treated  their  censor  like  a  spoiled  child  and  cared  for 
him  as  though  he  were  a  dear  convalescent.  Their 
protective  kindness  and  forbearance,  far  from  calming 
Laurent,  only  put  him  beside  himself,  and,  not  suc- 
ceeding in  damaging  their  serenity,  blasted  their  civil- 
ity, only  to  return  to  them  within  a  few  days.  They 
cherished  no  bitterness  toward  him,  and  forgave  his 
thoughtless  insults  and  passionate  harangues  as  being 
the  paradoxes  and  sophisms  of  a  large  heart. 

But,  haunted  by  his  outlandish  ideas,  Laurent 
dreamed  of  conforming  his  conduct  to  them.  The  mo- 
ment was  coming  when  he  would  strip  himself  of  his 
last  prejudices  and  violate  social  conventions.  His 
eccentric  habits  finally  wearied  the  tolerance  of  his 
intimates,  and,  as  people  who  had  a  reputation  to  sus- 
tain in  the  world,  they  hazarded  a  few  observations. 
One  day  they  had  met  him  accompanied  by  a  couple 
of  picturesque  fellows,  prowlers  on  the  quays,  bad 
laborers,  well  modelled,  but  of  a  much  too  excessive 
originality,  to  whom,  nevertheless,  with  the  best  faith 
in  the  world,  he  expected  to  present  them.  Having 
freed  themselves  in  haste  from  this  compromising  ac- 
quaintance, they  were  severely  taxed  with  philistinism. 

This  time  Bergmans  replied  sharply.  Paridael  was 
asking  too  much  of  them.  His  jokes  were  turning 
sour.  To  interest  himself  in  folk  who  worked  and 
suffered;  nothing  could  be  finer.  But  to  take  a  deep 
interest  in  blackguards,  to  rub  elbows  with  criminals 
and  with  the  riff-raff ;  that  was  to  behave  eccentrically, 
to  say  the  least !  Then,  softening,  Bergmans  tried  to 
show  the  stray  sheep  the  abyss  toward  which  he  was 
slipping;  he  reproached  him  with  being  out  of  work, 
with  his  solitary  life,  his  dreams,  offered  him  a  posi- 


CONTUMACY  285 

tion  in  his  offices,  or  a  place  with  Daelmans-Deynze. 

Paridael  refused  point  blank.  The  slightest  depend- 
ence, the  least  control  was  as  repugnant  to  him  as  a 
chain. 

Sometimes,  affected  by  a  friendly  word,  he  prom- 
ised to  take  to  regular  habits ;  he  would  make  an  effort 
to  content  himself  with  the  commonplace  existence  of 
sedate  and  more  sober  people;  but  these  good  reso- 
lutions left  him  at  the  first  vexation  which  bourgeois 
platitudes  and  self-sufficiency  caused  him. 

The  prognostications  of  Cousin  Dobouziez  weighed 
upon  him  like  a  malediction;  that  positive  and  clear- 
sighted man  had  fathomed  the  future  of  his  exceptional 
relative. 

Laurent  began  to  wish  himself  irresponsible,  to  envy 
the  shut-away,  criminal  or  insane,  who  were  not  tor- 
mented with  the  worry  about  daily  bread  and  the  strug- 
gle for  existence.  His  almost  saintly  goodness  of 
heart,  an  hysterical  excellence  like  that  of  the  Francis- 
cans of  Assisi,  unbridled  him  and  pushed  him  to  the 
ultimate  consequences  of  fatalism.  He  believed  him- 
self predestined;  without  will,  without  faith,  without 
object,  he  wished  to  die  and  sink  himself  again  into 
the  great  all,  like  a  defaced  coin  which  the  minter  puts 
back  into  the  crucible.  After  his  atoms  had  been  scat- 
tered and  his  elements  dispersed,  the  eternal  chemist 
would  again  combine  them  with  more  profit  to  crea- 
tion. 

The  visit  which  Laurent  paid,  at  the  height  of  this 
crisis,  to  a  penitentiary,  aggravated  his  deleterious 
desires. 

"Sick,  irresponsible,  unfortunate  people!'*  he 
pleaded,  on  his  return  from  this  excursion,  before  the 
politician,  the  painter  and  the  musician.    "People  who 


286  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

stare,  who  are  bewildered,  dazzled  and  aghast  with 
great  visionary  eyes  that  understand  nothing  of  life, 
law  or  morality, — ^the  weak,  the  hopeless,  lambs  that 
are  always  shorn,  passive  instruments,  dupes  who  have 
jostled  every  infamy,  and  remain  as  candid  as  children ; 
easy-going  folk  who  would  never  have  killed  a  fly  had 
not  ruffians  taken  them  in ;  vitiated  but  not  vicious,  as 
greatly  torn  by  life  as  they  are  wreckers  of  life.  .  .  ." 

"Are  you  speaking  for  yourself  ?"  interrupted  Mar- 
Sol. 

"You  an  artist !"  sneered  Paridael,  without  answer- 
ing his  question.  "What  have  you  suffered  for  your 
art ;  what  have  you  sacrificed  to  it  ?  It  was  there  that 
I  met  a  true  artist!  And  a  sincere  one,  mind  you! 
After  having  led  me  from  workshop  to  workshop,  the 
director  took  me  into  a  model  smithy.  Imagine  three 
tiers  of  anvils,  as  many  bellows  beating  out,  with  their 
Aeolian  breath,  the  rhythm  of  the  red  dance  of  the 
flames ;  a  hundred  men,  their  chests  and  stomachs  pro- 
tected by  leather  aprons  as  inflexible  as  armor,  hairy, 
bearded,  black,  strong,  their  arms  bare  to  the  bulging 
muscles,  quickly  tapping  hammers ;  the  thunder  and 
the  temperature  of  a  crater  in  eruption;  a  maddening 
whirl  of  filings  in  human  sweat ;  the  flash  of  tests  al- 
ternating with  bursts  of  flame ;  and,  splashed  in  sparks, 
torsos  comparable  to  that  in  the  Vatican. 

"Apart  from  its  huge  dimensions  and  more  com- 
plex apparatus,  nothing  distinguished  this  smithy  from 
any  other;  the  magnificent  and  robust  smiths  looked 
like  all  the  other  blacksmiths  in  the  world.  The  activ- 
ity and  the  fever  of  emulation  that  pervaded  this  im- 
mense hall  were  neither  more  nor  less  edifying  than 
those  of  a  workshop  full  of  free  workers,  and  many 
a  criminologist,  versed  in  the  science  of  Gall  and  La- 


CONTUMACY  2S7 

vater,  would  have  been  shocked  by  the  faults  and  the 
divergences  of  these  almost  superhuman  athletes. 

"Passing  between  the  files  of  anvils,  one  of  the  ham- 
merers especially  interested  me;  a  hoary,  strapping 
fellow  with  a  gentle  and  wistful  face,  at  the  most 
thirty  years  of  age.  The  director  had  shown  me,  in 
his  rooms,  admirable  pieces  of  wrought  iron,  recalling, 
or  rather  perpetuating  the  exquisite  ironwork  of  the 
Middle  Ages  and  the  Renaissance. 

"Here,"  he  said  to  me,  "is  the  maker  of  those 
pieces!"  and  to  the  hammerman  who  did  not  stop 
puddling  the  flaming  iron :  "Karel,  this  gentleman  has 
been  good  enough  to  find  some  merit  in  your  slight 
work."  "Not  some  merit,  but  the  greatest  .merit,"  I 
hurriedly  corrected.  "Those  window-grilles,  that  fire- 
gate,  the  candelabra,  the  banister  are  superb,  and  I 
heartily  congratulate  you  upon  them!"  At  my  con- 
vinced tone,  and  the  explicit  expression  of  my  praise, 
his  serious  face  lit  up  with  a  pale  smile,  his  tempes- 
tuous eyes  radiated;  he  thanked  me  in  a  gentle  and 
moved  voice;  but  smile,  intonation  and  look  were  so 
poignant  that,  had  I  persisted,  and  touched  the  same 
chord,  his  expression  of  gratitude  would  have  become 
a  burst  of  tears.  I,  too,  felt  myself  as  much  over- 
wrought as  he,  and  after  having  furtively  touched  his 
callous  hands,  I  moved  away  quickly,  a  lump  in  my 
throat  and  a  mist  before  my  eyes. 

"  'And  to  think,'  the  director  said  to  me,  when  we 
had  left  the  room  and  I  had  turned  away  to  hide  my 
emotion,  'that  I  have  placed  that  hardhitter  very  nicely 
with  the  village  farrier.  He  earned  a  good  salary,  and 
his  employer  treated  him  well.  Moreover,  I  had  been 
able  to  recommend  him  very  highly.  He  had  under- 
gone infinite  affliction ;  the  death  of  his  family,  carried 


288  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

off  during  the  last  epidemic  of  typhoid,  brought  him 
to  desperation,  drunkenness,  misery  and  stranded  him 
upon  our  doorstep.  I  prided  myself  upon  having 
reconciled  him  to  life  and  society.  However,  didn^t 
he  get  the  notion  to  suddenly  leave  his  employers  and 
return  to  our  door?  Called  before  me,  he  begged  me 
to  take  him  back.  You  cannot  imagine  under  v^hat 
pretext.  That  original  thought  it  beneath  his  dignity 
to  hire  out  his  arms  to  the  village  blacksmith,  who  em- 
ployed them  in  rough  work,  and  he  believed  himself 
happier  in  working  here  as  a  prisoner  at  work  of  his 
choice,  at  the  craftsmanship  undertaken  here. 

"  'Naturally,  I  refused  to  lend  myself  to  such  a  sin- 
gular whim,  and  thinking  that  I  had  demonstrated  the 
absurdity  of  his  proposition,  I  sent  him  away,  promis- 
ing him  that  I  would  find  a  workshop  more  worthy 
of  his  talent.  He  did  not  once  object  to  my  reasons, 
seemed  to  submit,  but  he  said  goodbye  to  me  in  a  sar- 
castic tone  quite  contrary  to  his  nature. 

"  *Two  months  after  this  interview  he  returned  to 
me,  this  time  escorted  by  gendarmes  in  the  coach-load 
of  prisoners  sent  us  daily  by  the  judicial  authorities :  he 
had  had  himself  admitted  not  by  favor,  but  by  law, 
well  furnished,  as  a  letter  of  introduction,  with  a  com- 
mittment as  an  incorrigible  vagrant.  And  when  he 
had  done  his  time  I  consented  to  keep  him  on,  in  order 
to  spare  him  a  second  offence.  Only  don't  repeat  this 
story,  for  if  it  came  to  the  ears  of  the  Minister,  my 
kindness  might  be  severely  judged !  What  means  did  I 
have  of  treating  that  devil  of  an  aristocrat  differently?' 

"Would  you  believe  it,  far  from  blaming  him,  I 
sincerely  congratulated  the  official  and  thanked  him 
for  his  kindness  to  one  of  the  only  complete  artists, 
of  the  only  true  aristocrats — that  was  my  word — ^that 


CONTUMACY  289 

I  had  ever  met  with.  ...  Oh !  sit  down  again,  Mar- 
bol,  and  you,  too,  Bergmans;  I  haven^t  finished.  .  .  . 
Our  walk  ended  in  a  long  silence  of  thought. 

"I  reproached  myself  for  my  pusillanimity  in  regard 
to  the  man  whom  we  left  behind  in  the  smithy.  I 
should  have  embraced  that  victim  of  social  stupidity 
and  cried  to  him:  *I  understand  you,  proud  wretch. 
How  greatly  plausible  is  your  so-called  aberration !  I 
share  your  predilection  for  this  refuge  where  you  can 
give  yourself  up  to  the  creative  impulse  without  hin- 
drance, where  the  person  who  pays  you  does  not  set 
your  conscience  and  your  liberty  by  the  ears.  How 
many  artists  are  pigmies  compared  to  you !  Then,  also, 
my  good  fellow,  I  divine  in  you  a  character  too  im- 
pressionable for  you  to  repatriate  yourself  among  geo- 
metrical humanity.  A  slight  swerving  would  put  you 
without  the  ban  of  ostensibly  virtuous  people.  A  false 
step  would  alienate  you  forever  from  those  austere 
equilibrists.  You  prefer  to  this  hypocritical  and  recti- 
linear society  your  strange  equals,  your  comrades  of 
the  hulks.  You  live  without  mortification ;  you  create 
according  to  your  own  fancy.  That  bread  which  you 
eat ;  no  competitor  will  tear  away  from  you,  and  you 
still  less  will  steal  from  your  brother  in  distress.  No 
more  struggle  for  existence,  that  struggle  which  fin- 
ishes by  taking  all  the  color  out  of  the  artist's  soul. 
No  dealers,  no  exhibitions,  no  public.  Around  you 
poor  beings  who,  without  necessarily  understanding 
your  work  better  than  acknowledged  connoisseurs,  ex- 
cuse and  respect  your  art,  your  vice,  your  rare  vice, 
because  you,  on  your  part,  do  not  think  of  wronging 
their  subversive  originality.' " 

After  this  vindication  of  the  defaulting  and  the 
downtrodden,  a  fierce  argument  arose  between  Lau- 


290  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

rent  and  his  companions,  although  the  latter  did  all 
they  could  to  call  off  the  dogs.  These  scenes  repeated 
themselves,  tearing  away  each  time  a  shred  of  their 
former  intimacy,  and  Laurent  ended  by  no  longer  see- 
ing his  former  faithful  friends. 

He  once  more  plunged  himself  deeper  and  deeper 
into  the  extreme  quarters  exemplified  by  the  loves  of  the 
crossing-keeper,  frequented  the  haunts  of  the  city 
boundaries,  the  cut-throat  dives  of  Looibroek  and 
Doelhof,  the  slanting  streets  of  the  Stone  Mill  and 
of  Zurenborg,  the  sight  of  which  had  touched  his  heart, 
when  he  was  a  child,  and  inspired  him  with  a  curiosity 
blended  with  anguish  and  an  unhealthy  pity;  that  ec- 
centric district  to  the  east  of  the  city,  actual  vestibules 
of  the  reformatories,  waiting  room  of  the  prisons, 
swarming  with  moral  lepers. 

He  loafed  also  about  the  immense  region  of  the 
Basins,  beginning  at  the  former  Palais  des  Hanseates, 
stripped  of  its  campanile  and  imperial  eagle,  and  pre- 
senting an  uninterrupted  succession  of  quadrangular 
reservoirs,  enormous  and  solid  as  the  arenas  inundated 
for  the  naumachies  of  the  Caesars.  However,  some- 
times the  boats  flocked  together  in  such  compact  masses 
that  Paridael  crossed  the  docks,  dry-footed,  as  if  it 
were  the  deck  of  a  boat.  Others  were  being  built, 
larger,  deeper,  without  any  delay.  Hardly  opened, 
they  were  already  insufficient  for  the  merchant  fleets 
that  met  there  from  the  four  corners  of  the  earth,  and 
anew  the  metropolis,  glorious  Messaline  of  commerce, 
insatiable  and  unsatiated,  enlarged  her  bosom  to  re- 
ceive these  arks  of  abundance,  and,  always  spurred 
forward,  contested  in  expansion  and  in  vigor  with  her 
copious  tributaries. 

And  navvies  from  the  Polder  incessantly  struggled 


CONTUMACY  291 

to  dig  a  bed  that  would  fit  her  lovers,  for  the  queen  of 
the  Scheldt. 

But,  though  they  were  exacting,  at  least  these  loves 
were  fecund. 

Around  each  basin,  the  whole  length  of  the  quays, 
cranes  and  hoists  driven  by  water  power  and  steam, 
and  tended  by  gangs  of  Herculean  dockers  stretched 
far  and  wide.  As  alarming  as  the  ballistic  engines  and 
siege  machines  invented  long  ago  by  Gianibelli,  the 
Antwerpian  Archimedes,  to  shatter  to  bits  and  sink 
the  galleons  of  Farnese,  their  immoderate  arms  bran- 
dishing a  perpetual  threat  toward  heaven,  they  no 
longer  tore  ships  from  their  element,  but,  after  having 
plunged  their  hooks,  like  hands  armed  with  forceps, 
into  the  depths  of  the  hold,  they  hoisted  out,  without 
too  much  grinding  of  chains  or  teeth,  the  cargoes 
stowed  away  in  these  wombs  perpetually  in  travail. 

Communicating  with  the  docks  and  the  roadstead  by 
means  of  powerful  locks  provided  with  gang-planks 
and  revolving  bridges,  were  lined  the  dry-docks,  like 
convalescent  homes  next  to  maternity  hospitals.  There 
all  sick  and  wounded  ships  were  recruited.  A  swarm 
of  operators,  calkers  and  painters,  took  charge  of  the 
damaged  boat,  skinned  it,  repaired  it,  plated  it,  paved  it, 
painted  it  freshly ;  and  the  reverberations  of  hammers, 
mallets  and  picks  drowned  the  wailing  of  the  cranes, 
and  the  whistle  of  sirens  and  the  crash  of  cartage. 

Then,  beyond  the  hospital,  the  pound  and  the 
morgue.  Waste  fields  where  carcasses  of  ships,  lying 
upon  their  sides,  eaten  up  with  sea-wrack,  cracked,  with 
the  air  of  incurable  or  stranded  whales,  waited  for  the 
wrecker,  or  finished  by  rotting  like  carrion  among  the 
refuse  and  minor  wrecks. 

Then  he  pushed  his  exploration  farther  on.     He 


292  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

came  to  the  warehouses  for  inflammable  substances. 
Storehouses  of  petroleum  and  naphtha  immerged  like 
islets  in  marshy  flats.  Here  the  industry  of  the  great 
city  had  halted  for  the  time  being.  Barring  the  en- 
trance to  the  country  toward  Austruweel  rose  the  glacis 
of  the  old  Citadelle  du  Nord,  a  discarded  fortress,  a 
bulky  and  antiquated  rampart,  a  decayed  bugbear,  a 
wretched  poultry-yard  of  which  the  utilitarian  city  had 
obtained  the  cession  and  which  she  was  hurrying  to 
sap  in  order  to  convert  it,  like  her  other  annexations, 
into  docks,  basins,  dry-docks  and  warehouses.  Ah! 
why  could  she  not  do  the  same  with  all  the  other  ram- 
parts and  intrenchments  with  which  they  persisted  in 
surrounding  her !  For  the  city,  essentially  mercantile, 
reluctantly  suffered  her  role  of  fortified  town,  although 
she  had  been  predestined  to  it  from  her  origin,  by  the 
Roman  fort,  her  cradle,  of  which  vestiges  can  still  be 
seen  today  and  whose  despoiled  and  travestied  poetry 
awaits  its  cavalier,  as  in  the  early  days  Elsa  of  Bra- 
bant, countess  of  Antwerp,  conjured  up  the  apparition 
of  Lohengrin,  her  champion,  from  the  dazzling  track 
of  the  fatal  swan. 

Having  in  her  heart  a  last  filial  scruple,  instead  of 
tearing  down  the  ancient  donjon,  Antwerp  contented 
itself  with  scofling  at  it  by  flanking  it  with  two  galler- 
ies as  shabby  as  the  practicable  bridges  in  a  comic 
opera. 

But  she  did  not  manifest  even  such  debatable  atten- 
tions to  more  recent  fortresses. 

She  cursed  as  a  detestable  slavery  the  belt  of  forti- 
fications which  her  princes  consented  to  demolish  from 
century  to  century  only  to  transport  them  further  out 
and  make  them  inexpugnable. 

The  maid  of  Antwerp,  more  haughty  than  belli- 


CONTUMACY  293 

cose,  would  gladly  trample  beneath  her  feet  the  crene- 
lated crown  that  she  had  been  forced  to  wear. 

History  does  not  hesitate  to  justify  the  repugnance 
of  the  metropolis  for  this  martial  garb.  Instead  of 
preserving  her,  these  walls  and  ramparts  had  always 
attracted  the  worst  scourges  toward  her.  Besieged  for 
months,  bombarded,  then  forced,  invaded,  pillaged, 
sacked,  put  to  fire  and  sword,  devastated  from  cellar 
to  roof  by  foreign  soldiery,  notably  during  the  Span- 
ish Fury,  so  well  named,  she  was  nigh  to  never  again 
recovering  from  it,  to  never  rising  from  her  ashes, 
but  to  disappearing  with  her  fortune.  But,  thanks  to 
her  faithful  Scheldt,  which  for  her  took  the  place  of 
Pactolus  and  the  fountain  of  youth,  she  was  reborn 
each  time  more  beautiful,  more  desirable,  and  recov- 
ered her  ravished  fortune  tenfold.  As  she  grew  richer, 
however,  she  grew  more  surly  and  more  selfish.  Did 
she  have  a  presentiment  of  fresh  disasters?  She 
spread  out  so  insolent  a  luxury,  and  so  much  misery 
surrounded  it!  And  the  more  her  commerce  flour- 
ished, the  more  inveterate  became  her  hatred  of  these 
inauspicious  fortifications,  which  not  only  thwarted 
her  growth,  but  destined  her,  in  case  of  war,  to  be  the 
theater  of  desperate  struggles  and  supreme  disasters. 

Her  ramparts  charged  with  cannon  and  her  bar- 
racks crammed  with  soldiers  continually  evoked  the 
spectre  of  ruin  and  death  before  these  Croesuses,  as  in- 
solent as  they  were  cowardly.  And  the  city  came  to 
envelop  in  the  same  animadversion  the  bastions  that 
strangled  her  and  the  idle,  parasitic  garrison  that 
seemed  to  insult  her  activity,  and  with  whom  she  vied 
even  in  patriotic  courage.  In  the  same  way  Carthage 
used  to  detest  her  mercenaries. 

The  manner  in  which  the  army  was  recruited  did  not 


294  THE  NEW^  CARTHAGE 

contribute  to  elevating  it  in  the  eyes  of  the  oligarchs. 
It  was  composed,  for  the  major  part,  only  of  poor 
devils  and  vagabonds;  of  conscripts  and  paid  volun- 
teers. But  millionaires  brought  up  in  the  cult  of  money 
recognized  no  difference  between  poverty  and  vaga- 
bondage. The  army  had  good  reason  to  think  the  gar- 
rison of  Antwerp  the  most  inhospitable.  Soldiers  sent 
into  these  unsympathetic  surroundings  soon  presented 
a  constrained  expression.  In  the  street  they  instinc- 
tively effaced  themselves  and  ceded  the  right  of  way 
to  the  bourgeiosie.  They  wore,  not  the  uniform  of 
warriors,  but  the  livery  of  pariahs.  Instead  of  repre- 
senting an  army,  of  emanating  from  the  patriotism  of 
a  people  and  incarnating  the  best  of  its  blood  and 
youth,  they  were  conscious  of  their  position  of  pen- 
sioners. 

The  people  of  Antwerp  confused  these  soldiers  of  a 
neutral  country  with  indigents  succored  by  public  char- 
ity, with  the  inhabitants  of  orphan  asylums  and  alms- 
houses. 

And,  by  a  strange  anomaly,  the  prejudice  of  the 
bourgeoisie  of  Antwerp  against  the  soldier  blinded  the 
common  people,  even  those  who  intended  serving  or 
had  served,  and  fathers  whose  sons  were  or  were  to 
become  soldiers. 

It  was  no  longer  a  question  of  class  hatred,  but  of 
a  true  incompatability  of  habits,  of  an  historic  hatred 
that  Antwerpians  imbibe,  as  if  from  a  tradition  inher- 
ent in  the  air  they  breathed,  or  the  milk  with  which 
they  were  suckled. 

In  roadside  inns,  working  women  often  refused  to 
dance  with  soldiers.  In  other  lands,  in  the  eyes  of 
the  women  military  uniform  lends  an  irresistible  smart- 
ness to  any  gallant;  here  it  is  a  blot  upon  the  most 


CONTUMACY  295 

attractive  cavalier.  When  they  knew  themselves  to  be 
in  the  majority,  the  rebuffed  soldiers  did  not  swallow 
the  insult,  but,  touched  to  the  quick,  raised  their  voices, 
took  the  offensive,  turned  the  ball  topsy-turvy,  took 
the  first  weapons  that  came  to  hand  and  revenged  them- 
selves upon  the  men  for  their  doxies*  scorn.  Nearly 
every  week  a  brawl  broke  out  between  civilians  and 
soldiers,  especially  in  the  ill-famed  blocks  of  houses 
bordering  the  barracks  of  Berchem  and  Borgerhout. 
This  antagonism  between  civilian  and  soldier  raged 
even  outside  the  belt  of  fortifications,  in  the  country 
about  Antwerp.  Unfortunate  was  the  stranger  who 
travelled  back  alone  in  the  evening  to  one  of  the  outly- 
ing forts.  Ambushed  peasants  fell  upon  him,  peppered 
him  with  blows,  beat  him  unmercifully  and  dragged 
him  along  the  road.  This  ambuscade  called  forth  a 
frightful  reprisal.  On  the  next  furlough,  the  victim's 
brothers  in  arms  descended  in  force  upon  the  village, 
and  if  they  could  not  succeed  in  laying  hands  upon  the 
guilty,  invaded  the  first  cabaret  in  their  path,  broke 
up  the  furniture,  smashed  the  glasses,  battered  in  the 
heads  of  casks,  slashed  the  drinkers  and  abused  the 
women.  It  came  to  pass  that  whole  streets  of  Berchem 
were  delivered  up  to  the  excesses  of  these  madmen. 
At  their  approach  the  inhabitants  immured  themselves 
under  lock  and  key.  Drunk  with  rage  and  liquor,  the 
madmen  buried  their  swords  in  doors  and  shutters  and 
did  not  leave  a  single  window  unbroken. 

The  next  day  the  colonel  vainly  consigned  the  regi- 
ment to  barracks,  and  forbid  them  thenceforth  the 
privilege  of  entering  the  dives  of  the  neighborhood; 
after  these  night  attacks  the  hatred  continued  to 
smoulder,  latent  and  dull,  and  at  the  next  opporttmity 
would   break   out   in   fresh   and   murderous   brawls. 


296  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

Naturally,  Laurent,  in  the  majority  of  cases,  took 
sides  with  the  soldiers,  provoked  beyond  endur- 
ance by  the  butchers  and  slaughterers  of  the  Stone 
Mill. 

He  made  friends,  above  all,  with  the  newcomers,  the 
novices,  those  who  were  most  rebuffed  and  out  of  their 
element.  For  they  suffered  not  only  the  affronts  of  the 
bourgeosie,  but  also  served  as  butts  for  their  seniors 
in  service.  Butts  for  butts,  they  were,  for  the  most 
part,  unsophisticated  and  massive  peasant  literally  up- 
rooted from  their  villages  in  the  Campine. 

Laurent  followed  the  poor  conscripts  from  those 
grey  afternoons  when  lots  were  drawn  and  the  militia- 
board  met,  when,  muddied  up  to  their  loins,  they  fidg- 
eted and  bellowed  in  the  mud  and  the  mist  of  the 
streets,  their  caps  decorated  with  red  ribbons  and  col- 
ored papers,  with  the  falsely  foppish  air  of  cattle,  their 
eyes  humid  and  vacant,  arm  in  arm,  beating  out  ex- 
travagant quadrilles. 

Then  he  saw  before  his  eyes  these  falsely  joyous 
fellows  during  the  first  few  days  in  barracks ;  instruc- 
tors chosen  from  among  the  substitutes  abused  and 
molested  these  peasants,  bewildered  to  the  point  of 
no  longer  being  able  to  tell  their  name  or  that  of  their 
village.  And  the  tortures  to  which  they  were  put  in 
the  dormitories!  Then  their  walks  in  the  street,  in 
their  new  uniforms,  in  coteries  made  up  of  men  from 
the  same  district,  coming  together  like  chicks  from  the 
same  litter;  their  admiring  halts  in  front  of  shop- 
windows  ;  their  rocking  gait,  their  rustic  awkwardness ; 
their  vaguely  troubled  and  begging  air  of  lost  dogs; 
the  puerile  travesty  of  a  soldier  accommodating  him- 
self badly  to  the  handling  of  his  weapons  and  stress- 


CONTUMACY  297 

ing  the  contrast  between  his  muscular  body  and  his 
placid,  frank  face. 

Perhaps,  real  Samaritan  that  he  was,  Laurent 
would  have  preferred,  to  the  passive  and  submissive 
soldier,  deserters,  the  refractory,  even  the  disgraced 
who  were  driven  from  the  army  and  punished  with 
the  yellow  badge. 

In  memory  of  the  poignant  enigma  between  Beveren 
and  Calloo  he  harbored  and  concealed  for  a  week, 
time  enough  to  throw  the  gendarmes  off  the  scent,  and 
procure  him  enough  money  to  leave  the  country,  a 
deserter  who  had  escaped  punishment,  an  inoffensive 
and  bewildered  conscript  who  had  been  condemned, 
for  a  trifle,  to  stagnate  in  a  fort  in  the  marshes,  and 
young  and  brave  as  he  was,  to  endure  the  despotism  of 
a  disgraced  officer.  At  the  hour  for  fatigue  duty  he 
had  upset  his  wheelbarrow,  pitched  away  his  mattock, 
and  taken  to  flight  under  the  eyes  of  the  guard  who 
aimed  at  him.  He  even  told  Laurent  that  he  hoped  less 
for  freedom  than  for  death.  And  as  all  the  muskets 
discharged  without  touching  him,  he  thought  the  clum- 
siness of  the  sentinels,  his  brother  peasants,  had  been 
in  the  nature  of  mercy. 


THE  RUNNERS 

Laurent  even  began  to  make  friends  with  the  river- 
pirates,  fresh  water  sharks,  the  blackguards  or  run- 
ners whom  honest  Tilbak  had  held  at  a  distance,  mod- 
els whom  the  painter  Marbol  repudiated  as  too  tainted. 

A  peculiarly  local  breed,  the  majority  of  whom  first 
saw  the  light  of  day,  or  whatever  took  its  place,  in  lit- 
tle waterside  alleys,  at  the  back  of  some  fish-factor*s 
shop,  or  beneath  the  roof  of  some  cosmopolitan 
herberge.  Blind  alleys  and  culs-de-sac  in  which  these 
brats  swarmed  and  multiplied  to  such  an  extent  that 
one  would  have  thought  the  dealers  in  eels  and  mussels 
as  prolific  as  their  merchandise.  Marsh  fever  and 
contagious  diseases  swept  away  whole  litters  of  these 
urchins,  the  heavy  trucks  of  the  Nations  ran  over  at 
least  a  couple  of  them  each  week ;  but  the  next  day  they 
again  swarmed  in  crowds  as  compact  as  those  of  the 
day  before.  Legitimate  unions  between  fishermen  and 
fishwives  did  not  always  sufifice  to  foul  the  floors  of 
these  hovels  with  this  human  seaweed.  Loves  as  fleet- 
ing and  as  capricious  as  those  of  plants  presided  over 
the  propagation  of  the  species.  The  sons  of  a  blonde 
servant  like  the  blonde  Germanic  inherited  their  lemon- 
colored  complexions  and  black  eyelashes  from  their 
father,  an  Italian  helmsman  stranded  overnight  in  the 

298 


THE  RUNNERS  299 

house  of  the  German  lodgings-keeper,  the  baes  of  that 
Gretchen.  These  fat,  dumpy  children  of  an  appar- 
ently northern  complexion  sprang  from  the  furtive 
crossing  of  a  Dutch  harbor-pilot  and  a  boarder  in  a 
Spanish  posada. 

The  feverish,  mercenary  atmosphere  of  the  harbor 
emancipated  this  progeny  of  sailors  and  girls  at  an 
early  age.  They  would  avenge  themselves  upon  their 
three  dozen  fathers  by  fleecing  the  poor  devils  of 
sailors  as  best  they  might. 

The  suspicious  nature  of  their  business  complicated 
their  indeterminate  origin.  Their  lives  flowed  with 
the  tide  of  the  river.  By  dint  of  filling  their  eyes  with 
lubricating  visions,  the  water  communcated  its  power, 
its  untoward  magnetism,  to  their  eyes.  Muscular,  but 
graceful,  sly,  but  daring,  adroit  as  Florentine  hravi, 
they  were  like  nixies  with  alluring  voices,  greedy  fangs 
and  sharp  talons.  They  spoke,  as  if  intuitively,  a 
dozen  languages  and  as  many  dialects,  each  one  with 
the  local  accent,  heightening  it  with  a  popular  raciness, 
with  a  slangy  timbre  with  which  they,  spiced  their  own 
patois  and  by  which  they  could  be  distinguished  from 
their  comrades  of  other  great  ports. 

Sprung  from  all  races,  their  disparities  harmonized 
and  amalgamated  in  such  a  way  as  to  create  an  autoch- 
thonous physiognomy,  to  brand  them  with  a  trade- 
mark without  analogue,  with  an  indelible  and  vigorous 
seal  of  the  land. 

Laurent  highly  valued  their  feline  elegance,  their 
affected  indolence.  This  species  of  the  Antwerpian 
people  quintessentialized  the  vices  and  even  the  per- 
fections of  the  great  city. 

Finally,  Paridael  contracted  their  mannerisms,  their 
twisting  walk,  their  habit  of  stretching,  their  stuffed 


300  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

and  slow  locution.  The  raciness  of  this  underworld 
of  the  flourishing  metropolis  seasoned  his  life,  for  so 
long  past  merely  insipid.  He  adapted  himself  to  his 
surroundings.  On  certain  days  he  clad  himself  in  old 
leather  breeches  and  mangy  coat,  opened  his  old  wide- 
skirted  overcoat  above  his  short  docker's  blouse, 
donned  a  sailor's  cap  with  a  saucy  peak,  or  the  pear- 
shaped  silk  balloon  dear  to  rural  corn-chandlers,  or  a 
picaresque  wide-brimmed  felt,  or  a  comically  shaped 
straw. 

Clad  in  this  topical  rig  he  lounged  about,  disordered, 
untidy,  shuffling  his  feet  along,  knocking  one  shoe 
against  the  other.  Leaning  against  the  wall  of  some 
warehouse,  his  cheek  swollen  with  a  quid,  his  arms 
bare,  he  caressed  his  biceps  with  the  air  of  an  itinerant 
tumbler,  or,  with  his  hand  on  the  flap  of  his  trousers, 
pulled  up  his  perpetually  falling  socks  with  a  cynical 
gesture,  or,  looking  for  some  blackguardism,  mused 
and  gazed  for  hours  at  the  stream  of  passers-by. 

Fights  were  no  longer  distasteful  to  him ;  he  scuffled 
in  the  streets  with  a  comrade,  suffered  and  distributed 
blows  at  random,  he  provoked  and  continued  scraps 
that  ended  in  tumbles  head  over  heels.  When  he  came 
out  of  these  tourneys  one  would  have  taken  him  for  the 
muddy  carter  whom  he  had  just  been  rolling  about  in 
the  gutter. 

During  the  day  the  runners  usually  went  their  own 
ways.  Stretched  out  upon  a  pile  of  bales,  upon  a  light 
truck,  upon  a  heap  of  boards  or  in  the  bottom  of  a 
launch,  they  slept  with  one  eye  open.  Toward  dusk 
the  decks  were  suddenly  cleared  for  action,  and  they 
came  together,  as  if  by  scent  or  instinct,  at  the  same 
gathering  places.  Squatting  down,  looking  like  a  crop 
of  mushrooms  sprouting  on  a  misty  and  dark  night, 


THE  RUNNERS  301 

they  held  veritable  sabbaths,  discussed  some  plunder, 
made  up  maraudering  parties,  made  brutal  wagers, 
concocted  crimes,  frightened  by  their  loose  talk  and 
their  evasions  the  wenches  that  tacked  about  in  their 
seas. 

A  swarm  of  bad  flies,  of  invisible  insects  seemed  to 
simultaneously  sting  the  whole  licentious  tribe,  and 
then,  the  whole  length  of  the  river  and  the  canals, 
under  the  warehouses,  amidst  the  piles  of  merchandise, 
there  were  furious  races,  pillages  like  those  of  the 
guerilleros,  formidable  filibusters  that  excited  the  po- 
lice and  threw  them  into  consternation. 

If  he  did  not  pass  the  night  in  the  open  air,  Laurent 
lay  with  criminals  of  all  species,  in  the  dives  at  Schel- 
leke  of  Coude  Tortu,  of  the  Impasse  de  Glaive  or  of 
the  Montague  d'Or.  Here  he  had  to  pay  for  his  night's 
lodging  in  advance. 

He  stumbled,  at  the  mercy  of  a  worm-eaten  and 
blistering  staircase,  into  an  attic  hung  with  filthy  bed- 
ding suspended  like  hammocks.  The  frequenters  of 
the  place  threw  themselves  down  with  little  ceremony, 
haphazard,  often  completely  dressed,  without  bother- 
ing about  their  neighbors,  ages  and  sexes  confused, 
back  to  back,  stomach  to  stomach,  top  to  bottom, 
swarming  with  vermin,  incontinent.  This  promiscuity 
determined  almost  unconscious  and  somnabulistic  copu- 
lations, amourous  mistakes,  often,  also,  possessions 
spiced  with  carnage,  scenes  of  jealousy  and  rivalry 
prolonging  themselves  until  cock-crow.  And,  on  these 
nights  charged  with  ozone,  desires  crackled  like  will- 
o'-the-wisps  above  a  peat-bog.  Laurent  could  hear 
the  rustle  and  the  murmur  of  panting  lips.  Bargains 
were  being  struck  around  him,  fatal  initiations  were 
consummated  by  the  favor  of  the  darkness.     Where 


302  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

did  reality  commence,  and  nightmare  end?  The  noc- 
tambulists  turned  each  other  upside  down,  fighting 
with  arms  and  legs,  picked  themselves  up  in  positions 
like  those  of  the  Last  Judgment  or  Fall  of  the  Angels, 
until,  when  the  tempest  of  unforgettable  shrieking  was 
at  its  height,  a  more  frightful  and  more  strident  clamor 
than  any  of  the  others  tore  the  room  full  of  accomplices 
with  a  single  jump  from  their  anticipated  hell. 

Every  night  the  police  patrolled  these  cloacas,  the 
atmosphere  of  which  would  have  choked  a  sewer 
cleaner.  From  time  to  time  they  made  a  haul,  but 
every  night  managed  a  partial  pruning. 

Preceded  by  the  haes,  the  policeman  shoved  the 
light  of  the  dark  lantern  beneath  the  noses  of  the  sleep- 
ers. His  choice  having  been  made,  he  shook  the  sec- 
ond offender,  invited  him  almost  cordially  to  rise, 
dress  and  leave.  The  man  obeyed,  dully,  grumbling 
like  a  gagged  bear.  This  formality  was  renewed  so 
frequently  that  the  others  hardly  opened  their  eyes,  or, 
after  having  bidden  their  comrade  and  his  officer  a 
joking  "Pleasant  trip!"  fell  back  asleep  without  ac- 
cording the  scoop  any  further  attention.  Tomorrow 
it  would  be  their  turn.  And  then,  there  were  dead 
seasons  for  their  business,  just  like  any  other.  And, 
when  they  were  out  of  work,  they  might  just  as  well 
pass  their  days  in  the  workhouse  or  in  the  free  hotel 
of  the  Rue  des  Beguines.  .  .  . 

At  daybreak,  the  lodging-house  keeper  came  to  the 
door  of  the  dormitory,  and  having  gargarized  with  a 
cough  and  a  spit,  he  called  out  in  the  professional  and 
somewhat  nasal  voice  of  an  auctioneer  carrying  on  a 
sale: 

"Up  with  you,  boys!     One  .  .  .  two  .  .  .  three!" 

Then,  without  further  warning,  he  took  down  the 


THE  RUNNERS  303 

straps  that  held  up  their  pallets,  and,  at  the  risk  of 
breaking  up  the  mouldy  boards  of  the  floor,  tumbled 
the  mass  of  sleepers  brutally  out  on  the  floor. 

Accustomed  to  listening  to  cases  in  the  police-court, 
whiling  away  hours  with  second-offenders  and  appren- 
tice-criminals who  allured  him  with  tales  of  the  ex- 
ploits of  their  comrades,  delighting  in  contact  with 
rubbish  impregnated  with  the  odor  of  adventure,  Pari- 
dael  owed  it  to  a  miracle  that  he  was  not  implicated 
in  some  affair  or  other  carried  off  by  these  footpads 
who  terrorized  the  district. 

He  knew  more  than  one  member  of  the  celebrated 
bands  established  in  the  blind  alleys  of  populous  sub- 
urbs; at  Stuivenberg,  at  Doelhof,  at  Roggeveld  and 
Kerkeveld.  The  police  watched  him  and  took  him  for 
an  eccentric,  a  cracked,  inoffensive  idiot.  They 
watched  him  more  carefully  than  had  been  their  wont 
because  of  his  shameless  friendship  with  the  cream  of 
old  offenders;  the  Herring,  Tailless,  Flower  o*  the 
Sewer. 

He  also  had  had  a  nickname  bestowed  upon  him. 
It  was  not  the  first ;  formerly,  in  his  own  set,  Bejard, 
Saint-Fardier,  Felicite  and  even  Regina  had  affected 
to  see  nothing  but  the  too  rosy  color  of  his  cheeks,  and 
had  called  him  the  Peasant.  The  people  among  whom 
he  now  lived,  on  the  other  hand,  noticed  the  whiteness 
and  the  smallness  of  his  hands,  the  arch  of  his  femi- 
nine foot,  the  fineness  of  his  build;  and  for  the  full- 
breasted  receivers  of  stolen  goods,  for  the  big-fisted 
and  solidly  built  rogues,  he  was  the  Jonker,  the 
Squireen. 

How  had  he  been  able  to  make  himself  loved  by  all 
these  apaches,  instead  of  being  found  one  morning 
stabbed  and  gutted  in  some  back  yard,  or  dragged  out 


304  ^HE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

of  the  silt  of  the  Basins,  his  stomach  already  swarm- 
ing with  eels  ? 

He  excited,  on  the  contrary,  among  this  rabble  a 
sort  of  superstitious  respect  and  deferential  sympathy. 
They  had,  moreover,  tried  him  out,  and  he  had  come 
through  because  of  his  discretion.  The  spirit  of  con- 
tumacy brought  together  the  declassed  youth  and  those 
without  the  pale  of  the  law. 

To  flatter  and  tickle  their  instinct  of  combativeness, 
to  justify  their  life  on  the  fringe  of  society  in  their 
own  eyes,  to  stretch  their  riotous  feelings,  to  excite 
their  red-blooded  bodies  to  rape,  pillage  and  murder- 
ous frenzy,  he  told  them  about  his  reading,  during 
calm  hours,  transposed  Shakespeare  for  their  under- 
standing; Othello,  Macbeth,  King  Lear,  but  especially 
the  perpetual  homicides  of  the  Wars  of  the  Roses, 
kings  and  queens  of  sinful  days,  stags  with  horns  al- 
ways gory,  spotted  with  heroism. 

More  than  once,  leaving  one  of  these  readings,  awak- 
ened by  the  vehement  acclamation,  the  quivering  of 
their  gladitorial  bodies,  the  fluid  of  these  souls  as  ir- 
responsible as  nature  herself,  it  seemed  to  him  that  his 
dream  had  just  poured  itself  into  reality. 

It  was  among  the  young  runners  that  the  pigeon 
breeders  recruited  their  youths  on  the  Sundays  when 
races  were  held.  It  befell  Laurent  to  enter  these  re- 
lays and,  clutching  between  his  teeth  the  corner  of  the 
bag  that  held  the  winning  dove,  to  run  barefoot,  his 
limbs  as  elastic  as  those  of  a  hero  of  the  palaestra. 

He  discovered  the  photographer  charged  by  the 
courts  with  perpetuating  the  images  of  criminals  at 
the  issue  of  their  trials,  and  procured  for  himself 
proofs  of  the  entire  collection.  He  became  absorbed, 
with  a  bitter  joy,  in  the  contemplation  of  that  gallery 


THE  RUNNERS  305 

of  well  known  "trouble-bourgeoises"  and  compared 
them,  without  prejudice,  with  bronze,  marble  and  even 
with  august  folk  in  the  flesh.  In  default  of  the  golden 
letters  illustrating  the  monuments  of  civic  gratitude, 
the  name  of  the  prisoner  gleamed  in  white  letters  on 
the  breast  of  each  portrait.  This  inscription  seemed  to 
pillory  and  tattoo  with  a  red-hot  iron  even  the  poor 
effigy  of  the  subject.  On  the  back  of  the  card  figured 
the  description,  the  sobriquet,  the  place  of  birth,  the 
number  of  the  record,  and  the  term  of  commit- 
ment. 

Laurent  was  amused  at  the  decoys  and  the  decep- 
tions in  these  faces.  Certain  of  the  satyr-like  masks 
would  have  been  equally  becoming  to  the  most  vener- 
ated of  magistrates  and  to  the  chastest  of  chaste 
youths. 

Following  an  attack  upon  a  young  farm-girl  by  six 
peasants  from  Pouderlee,  he  frequently  went  to  the 
commonplace  cabaret  from  which  the  scamps  had 
rushed  to  gratify  their  lust.  He  was  fond  of  the  di- 
lapidated road  with  its  radish-beds,  its  mangy  woods, 
its  hillocks,  its  border  of  slender  trees  barked  and 
notched,  without  doubt  by  the  same  Jacks-of -all-trades 
who  occasionally  set  upon  a  less  passive  victim. 

Thanks  to  his  album  of  patibulary  celebrities  he 
recognized  one  of  the  heroes  of  this  escapade  in  a 
young  farmhand  of  eighteen,  condemned  by  the  Court 
of  Assizes,  but  later  freed  by  the  royal  pardon.  If 
the  excellent  likeness  of  the  photograph  of  this  jail- 
bird, one  of  those  to  which  Paridael  determinedly  re- 
turned, had  disconcerted  him  by  the  almost  seraphic 
candor  of  its  features,  how  much  more  inoffensive  did 
he  appear  in  flesh  and  bone!  There  was  nothing  sin- 
ister or  even  suspicious  in  the  symbol  of  his  soul.    A 


3o6  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

little  peasant,  rosy  and  neat,  brawny,  with  a  free  and 
easy  figure,  great,  pale,  limpid,  blue  eyes,  his  cheeks 
sprinkled  with  a  light  down,  a  fairly  large  nose  with 
refined  nostrils,  a  wilful  mouth,  fine  blond  hair  parted 
at  one  side, — a  rebellious  tuft  bristling  above  the  ear; 
— dressed  in  a  coat  and  breeches  of  reddish  corduroy, 
shod  in  cowherd's  boots,  a  red  silk  kerchief  knotted 
like  a  cord  around  his  neck;  the  awkward  manner  of 
a  choir-boy  surprised  while  stealing  apples. 

Laurent  bought  him  a  drink  and  made  him  tell  the 
details  of  the  crime,  relishing  the  contrast  between  the 
horrible  adventure  and  the  candid  air  of  the  ravisher. 
That  sorrowful,  sweet  voice  of  a  penitent  at  confes- 
sion gave  him  gooseflesh.  The  curious  fellow  entered 
upon  the  most  bestial  details  without  a  pang,  without 
a  single  contraction  in  his  throat,  as  if  he  were  recit- 
ing the  plaint  of  some  one  else,  and  not  himself,  and 
concluded  thus : 

"The  strangest  thing  was  that,  the  affair  being  over, 
we  did  not  dare  leave  each  other,  my  comrades  and  I. 
And,  nevertheless,  their  voices  made  me  ill.  Willeki 
having  proposed  to  return  there  and  finish  the  wretched 
girl  off,  so  as  to  close  her  mouth  for  good,  I  scam- 
pered away  at  full  tilt.  ...  A  dog  was  howling  to 
wake  the  dead.  Tt's  Lamme  Taplaar's  Spitz,*  I  said 
to  myself.  In  the  distance,  between  the  trees  and 
above  the  moor,  the  city  lights  outlined  the  immense 
dome  of  a  church,  luminous  against  the  black  sky. 
And  this  thought  of  the  too  close  city  did  not  bring 
to  my  mind  any  fear  of  the  police.  A  fine  drizzle  was 
falling.  My  head  was  on  fire,  my  temples  throbbing; 
I  kept  in  my  nose,  in  my  clothes,  beneath  my  nails  an 
odor  of  flesh  and  of  butchery  that  drove  me  sick  as 
does  the  smell  of  food  after  a  gorge.     I  slept  excel- 


THE  RUNNERS  307 

lently  that  night,  and  dreamed  of  the  great  white 
church  against  the  sky.  .  .  ." 

The  chances  of  birth,  education,  and  of  manners,  as 
well  as  the  inconsistency  of  nature  offered  Paridael 
many  comparisons  for  his  discouraging  philosophy. 

Before  a  building  under  construction  he  became  in- 
dignant at  seeing  plastic  and  decorative  youths  break- 
ing their  backs  and  wearing  themselves  out  as 
plasterers  and  mason's  assistants  in  order  to  erect  a 
palace  for  some  gouty  old  reprobate.  The  owner  con- 
ferred phlegmatically  with  the  architect  and  the  obse- 
quious builder,  without  according  the  slightest  atten- 
tion to  the  workmen  who  were  barely  able  to  carry 
their  loads.  But  as  much  as  the  rich  man  reeked  with 
self-sufficiency,  showed  himself  to  be  grotesque  and 
vulgar,  so  much  did  these  artisans,  trampled  down  and 
oppressed  though  they  were,  display  a  simplicity  and 
courage,  carrying  their  coarse  clothes  with  fine 
grace. 

And  Laurent  imagined  the  mason's  assistant  brought 
up  after  the  fashion  of  rich  people,  dressed  like  an 
English  "swell"  or  "masher,"  hurried  into  the  whole- 
some and  eurythmic  fatigue  of  sports,  and  his  superi- 
ority, thus  transformed,  over  the  young  Saint-Fardiers 
and  the  weak,  undersized  striplings  of  their  group. 
Often  the  whim  seized  him  to  empty  his  purse  into  the 
hands  of  an  apprentice  and  say:  "Here,  you  fool, 
save  your  strength,  preserve  your  youth,  and  fresh 
face,  laze,  dream,  love,  abandon  yourself !" 

From  his  youth,  at  the  house  of  the  Dobouziez',  he 
had  condemned  unhealthy  arts,  too  heavy  and  too  ex- 
clusive labor,  work  that  brought  only  one  side  of  the 
body  into  play,  operations  depending  upon  an  un- 
changeable motion  of  the  back  or  shoulder,  the  im- 


3o8  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

placably  repeated  effort  of  the  same  muscular  agents. 
He  cursed  the  workshops  that  were  creating  monsters, 
the  manufactories,  the  blast  furnaces,  the  coal  mines  in 
which  hordes  of  young  men  were  defaced,  injured, 
spoiled.  And  he  cherished  the  idea  of  an  Utopia, 
dreamed  of  a  new  and  frankly  pagan  rebirth  in  which 
the  cult  of  the  nude,  free  and  absolute,  would  flower 
again,  the  adoration  of  expressive  bodies  and  unveiled 
flesh.  Why  could  he  not  surround  himself  with  those 
who  had  been  freed  from  labor,  with  a  court  of  plastic 
human  figures?  Instead  of  statues  and  pictures,  he 
would  have  collected,  or  rather  selected,  human  mas- 
terpieces. And  in  his  enthusiasm  for  physical  beauty, 
he  blasphemed  these  words  of  Genesis :  "In  the  sweat 
of  thy  face  shalt  thou  eat  bread."  Moral  leprosy  and 
physical  deformity  had  no  other  origin.  The  law  of 
Darwin  was  confirming  that  of  Jehovah. 

Then,  by  a  strange  contradiction,  he  began  to  ac- 
knowledge the  imperious  and  tragic  charm  of  these 
days.  His  contemporaries  offered  a  beauty  that  was 
characteristic  and  psychic,  and,  if  not  as  regular,  at 
least  more  infinitely  picturesque  and  less  sculptural 
than  that  of  bygone  generations.  He  reconciled  the 
two  kinds  of  beauty,  associated  the  nude  of  the  past 
and  the  costume  of  the  present,  modernized  the  antique, 
created  Antinous  in  the  knitted  vest  of  a  bargeman, 
Venuses  togged  out  like  cigar-girls,  Bacchantes  as  cof- 
fee-sorters and  crossing-sweepers,  Hercules'  as  butch- 
er*s  boys  and  market-porters.  Mercury  incarnated 
himself  in  a  runner  with  a  finely  formed  back  and 
tapering  calves  like  those  of  the  bronze  statue  of  Gio- 
vanni da  Bologna;  Apollo  put  on  the  uniform  of  a 
fugleman ;  Bacchus  the  giver  of  wine  had  as  his  double 
an  incorrigible  drinker.    A  gang  of  navvies  at  work,  a 


THE  RUNNERS  309 

crew  of  pavers,  plump  and  bending  over  their  toil,  on 
the  curb  of  a  street,  reminded  him  of  companies  of  dis- 
cus throwers  exercising  in  the  palaestra,  and  since  his 
return  from  the  banks  of  the  Scheldt,  he  could  imagine 
no  bas-relief  with  a  more  perfect  rhythm  than  that 
of  the  movement  of  a  brigade  of  the  Nations. 

On  Sundays  and  Mondays  Paridael  danced,  until 
break  of  day,  in  the  dives  of  the  quarters  made  dra- 
matic by  riots  between  soldiers  and  people,  or  in  the 
music  OS  of  the  Quartier  des  Bateliers,  where  runners 
and  sea- faring  folk  gathered. 

And  what  dances  they  were!  What  loures,  what 
bourees,  what  dizzy  shindys  accompanied  by  a  triangle, 
a  clarinet  and  an  accordeon!  The  vulgar  debauchery 
of  these  sprightly  fellows;  their  figured  contortions, 
their  swift,  sudden  leaps  into  the  air,  the  dull  twistings 
of  their  bodies,  the  firing  and  galvanic  knitting  of 
their  muscles ! 

A  hole  in  the  bellows  of  the  accordion  brought  about 
a  lamentable  flight  of  melody,  and  at  each  pressure 
upon  the  punctured  note,  the  sound  escaped  in  a  mori- 
bund wail. 

During  the  pause  between  two  dances,  while  the 
couples  walked  about  and  paid  into  the  hands  of  the 
"tenancier"  their  money  for  these  dances,  the  water- 
ing pot  of  one  of  the  waiters  laid  the  dust  by  drawing 
wet  festoons  upon  the  floor. 

Then  the  clarinets  started  up  again,  the  dancers  re- 
turned to  the  floor,  and  boots  and  slippers  again  began 
to  stamp. 

Middle-aged  street-walkers,  their  cheeks  fiery  with 
paint,  condescended  to  skip  about  with  calker*s  ap- 
prentices shining  with  white  resin  and  pitch,  their 
breeches  stuffed  into  their  stockings,  who  jostled  eag- 


3IO  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

erly  against  these  matrons  clad  in  percaline  or  plaid 
satin  evening  dresses. 

In  the  promenade  around  the  dancing  floor  good- 
humored  old  sea-dogs,  sprightly  cabin-boys,  fishermen 
smelling  of  sea- weed  and  fish-gall,  sat  at  tables,  tip- 
pling and  making  the  women  who  straggled  about 
drink  out  of  their  glasses,  calling  them  and  despotic- 
ally drawing  them  down  on  their  laps. 

Sea-folk  were  meeting  lightermen,  the  bosses  of 
beurts  and  their  cabin-boys,  less  sunburnt,  less  chapped, 
rosier,  immature,  their  ears  projecting  and  pierced 
with  silver  rings. 

In  the  swirl  of  dust,  of  sweat  and  tobacco  as  acrid 
and  as  black  as  peat,  the  forms  of  the  dancers  dark- 
ened or  emerged  in  fragments.  Hats,  caps,  suroits  or 
tarred  zuidwesters,  curly  heads  came  to  the  surface  of 
the  heavy  cloud. 

By  the  aid  of  a  gleam  of  light,  when  the  entrance 
or  the  exit  of  a  couple  wafted  a  momentary  draft 
through  the  hall,  one  could  see  blue  jerseys  as  close- 
fitting  as  tights,  oil-skins  with  large  collars,  bare,  full- 
breasted  bosoms,  tight-fitting  breeches,  a  herding  of 
haunches  and  hips,  a  blowing  about  of  short  skirts, 
fishing  boots,  tight  stockings  showing  through  their 
light  meshes  the  rose  of  a  more  or  less  firm  thigh.  It 
was  a  skirmish  of  heads  close  together;  lips  meeting 
avidly ;  eyes  darting  baiting  gleams ;  sighs  of  languor, 
ticking  laughs,  embraces,  insinuating  movements  of  the 
knee,  bursts  of  passion  badly  restrained.  .  .  . 

On  the  morning  after  these  wild  nights,  Paridael, 
greedy  for  air  that  could  be  breathed,  hurried  to  meet 
at  Doel  his  gang  of  comrades,  the  river-pirates. 

Quarantine  was  held  at  Doel.  The  service-launch 
met  all  the  boats  coming  up  the  Scheldt,  the  doctor 


THE  RUNNERS  31  x 

looked  over  clearance  papers  and  health-billets,  and 
boats  coming  from  the  Orient  or  from  Spain,  where 
cholera  reigned  like  a  King  of  Dahomey,  were  forced 
to  anchor  there  for  a  week,  the  old  Fort  Fred- 
eric. 

Already  five  boats  were  stationed  there,  motionless, 
sullen  Leviathans,  their  fires  out,  their  steam  cut  off, 
their  smokestacks  despoiled  of  their  long  banners  of 
smoke.  They  flew  the  sinister  yellow  flag  which  cut 
them  off,  temporarily,  from  society,  the  only  one  which 
kept  at  a  distance  even  the  runners,  who,  however, 
were  difficult  to  discourage. 

But  the  pleasure  was  only  deferred ;  it  would  be  suf- 
ficient for  the  infected  boats  or  those  only  under  obser- 
vation to  finish  their  term  of  quarantine  and  draw  in 
the  sulphurous  flag,  for  the  swarm  of  ruffians  who 
had  been  lying  in  wait  for  them,  as  a  cat  watches  a 
bird  upon  which  he  cannot  get  his  claws,  and  who  had 
been  made  more  avid  for  the  prey  by  their  long  v/ait, 
to  fall  upon  them  with  the  inevitable  despotism  of  a 
new  scourge. 

Until  then,  in  order  to  keep  themselves  upon  the 
alert,  the  runners  had  cast  their  choice  upon  The 
Dolphin,  a  great  Australian  three-master  just  in  from 
the  Dutch  East  Indies  and  Indo-China.  A  pilot-boat, 
profiting  by  the  high  tide,  had  been  towing  her  up 
from  Flushing  to  Antwerp  and  she  was  due  to  pass 
Doel  at  three  in  the  afternoon. 

While  waiting  for  the  promised  ship  to  rise,  from 
the  direction  of  Bats,  above  the  Polders,  our  scoundrels 
flung  themselves  down  upon  the  grassy  dike,  behind 
and  below  which  sank  the  placid  village  which  they 
terrorized,  like  a  descent  of  the  Normans  in  the  year 
one  thousand. 


312  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

Their  presence  at  Doel  added  a  further  unwholesome 
charm  to  the  lazaretto-like  atmosphere  that  for  the 
last  month  had  been  hovering  above  these  stolid  boat- 
men, proof  against  all  epidemics.  Oh,  the  cemetery 
of  fishermen  and  castaways  in  which  they  had  recently 
interred  four  victims  of  cholera  1 

The  deans  of  the  worthy  brotherhood,  old  stagers 
and  dreadful,  hairy  fellows,  mingled  with  their  worthy 
apprentices.  Under  the  large  peaks  of  their  caps  the 
latter  showed  crop-eared  or  curly  heads,  mischievous, 
strangely  prepossessing,  but  vicious,  deflowered  by 
blows  of  the  lash  and  by  debauchery.  Runaway  sail- 
ors, pseudo-pilots,  several  of  them  not  yet  over  the 
effects  of  a  night  of  debauchery,  were  dozing,  their 
haunches  in  the  air,  their  hands  clasped  under  their 
necks.  Others  were  lying  on  their  backs,  their  weight 
upon  their  elbows,  their  chins  in  their  hands,  in  the 
pose  of  ambushed  sphynxes  or  malevolent,  lurking 
rocks. 

Winking  and  blinking  their  eyes,  they  gazed  at  the 
horizon  and  seemed  to  charm  the  yellow-flagged  boats 
into  immobility. 

From  time  to  time,  to  ease  their  impatience,  the  run- 
ners would  jump  to  their  feet,  yawn,  stretch,  shake 
their  legs,  regretfully  and  slowly  practice  a  few  wrest- 
ler's grips,  run  a  few  steps,  then  fall  back  little  by  lit- 
tle into  their  expectant  immobility. 

There  were  a  few  restless  ones  among  them  who, 
like  wasps,  teased  and  set  upon  the  sleepers,  or  paddled 
about  barefoot  in  the  mud  and  came  out  shod  with  a 
black  cothurnus. 

But  one  of  the  lookouts  had  spied  the  schooner !  A 
truce  to  all  laziness  and  gaping !  At  the  sight  of  their 
prey  they  thought  of  nothing  but  their  game,  they 


THE  RUNNERS  313 

kicked  the  sleepers,  ran  to  the  Httle  creek  where  they 
had  stored  their  canoes,  threw  in  their  decoys  and  pro- 
visions, bent  to  the  oars  and  set  about  making  for  the 
river.  A  critical  operation,  for  the  creek  was  narrow, 
the  boats  touched  each  other,  and  in  their  stormy  sel- 
fishness each  one  wanted  to  push  out  before  the  others. 
All  of  them  bustled  and  struggled  at  the  same  time, 
each  determined  not  to  cede  the  path  to  his  neighbor 
and  rival. 

Then,  a  brawl,  invectives,  a  scuffle.  To  arrive  there 
first,  a  runner  would  throw  aside  not  only  a  comrade's 
boat,  but  the  comrade  himself.  Moreover,  it  was  no 
longer  a  question  of  friendship;  the  instinct  of  greed 
came  to  the  fore,  and  friends  who  had  just  been  eating 
from  the  same  plate  and  drinking  from  the  same  bot- 
tle glared  at  each  other  as  though  they  wished  to  tear 
each  other  to  pieces. 

But  profiting  by  this  squabble,  which  was  threaten- 
ing to  turn  into  a  naval  engagement,  one  boat,  then 
another,  then  a  third,  manned  by  more  watchful  lads, 
gently  squirmed  between  the  antagonists  and  were 
craftily  making  for  the  open  river. 

At  this  sight,  the  quarrellers  suspended  hostilities, 
and  the  bulk  of  the  fleet  detached  itself  from  the  shore. 

The  laggards  spurted  every  oar,  silent,  worried, 
swallowing  their  envious  spite,  bent  upon  surpassing 
their  competitors  at  all  costs,  meditating  windfalls  and 
treacherous  blows. 

They  manoeuvred  so  well  that  they  overtook  their 
forerunners. 

And  now  they  played  a  waiting  game ;  an  equal  force 
and  energy  seemed  to  animate  all  of  them;  no  single 
crew  was  gaining  noticeably  on  the  others.  Their 
panting  breathing  kept  time  with  the  rhythm  of  their 


314  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

rowing;  they  bent  backward  and  forward  spasmodic- 
ally, the  tholes  moaned  at  each  stroke  of  the  oars,  and 
the  water  dropping  from  the  blades  dragged  over  the 
surface  of  the  water  a  trail  of  carbuncles. 

From  the  vessel,  the  point  aimed  at  by  this  passion- 
ate regatta,  they  had  seen  the  coming  of  this  flotilla 
which,  from  a  distance,  looked  like  a  bank  of  migratory 
fish,  so  compact  and  close-formed  was  it.  A  crowd 
hurried  to  the  deck.  The  captain  and  the  crew  sus- 
pected and  smelled  in  these  devilish  rowers  emissaries 
from  the  shopkeepers  and  purveyors  of  the  port. 

The  captain,  for  whom  this  was  not  a  first  en- 
counter with  these  landsharks,  changed  color  and  com- 
menced to  swear  like  a  devil.  The  sailors,  although 
they  had  plenty  of  ground  for  bitterness  against  the 
race,  pretended  anger,  but  only  grumbled  with  their 
lips;  they  were  intrigued  by  the  idea  of  the  pleasures, 
paid  for  at  usurious  rates,  but  so  copious  and  so  in- 
tense withal,  procured  for  them  by  these  middlemen. 

At  a  cable's  length  from  the  boat  the  first  canoes 
hailed  the  captain,  who  greeted  their  overtures  with  a 
recrudescence  of  oaths  and  even  threatened,  if  they  did 
not  decamp  quickly,  to  shoot  them  like  a  flock  of  wild 
ducks.  But  the  runners,  incomparable  dodgers,  pos- 
sessed their  maritime  code.  They  avoided  its  penalties 
as  adroitly  as  they  shunned  the  rapids  and  shoals  of 
the  Scheldt.  The  commands  of  the  Englishman  were 
pure  rhodomontade !  He  would  take  care  not  to  get 
into  a  nasty  scrape.  No  Belgian  law  protected  him 
from  having  his  boat  invested  by  victualer*s  clerks. 

Thus,  strong  in  the  connivance  of  the  law,  the  ras- 
cals pretended  a  wheedling  conciliation  in  proportion 
as  the  raging  man  hurled  them,  in  default  of  other 
shot,  the  largest  projectiles  from  his  arsenal  of  oaths. 


THE  RUNNERS  315 

While  this  was  going  on,  other  crews,  dropping  their 
oars  to  use  grappHng-hooks,  grappled  the  stern  of  the 
ship,  climbed  hand  over  hand  to  the  deck,  and  crowded 
there  before  the  captain  had  come  to  the  end  of  his 
chaplet  of  imprecations. 

The  crew  no  longer  struggled,  or  only  paid  slight 
attention  to  their  orders.  In  truth,  the  sailors  cove- 
nanted with  the  invaders.  The  approach  to  port  had 
softened  these  hardy  fellows,  discipline  had  been  re- 
laxed; they  were  as  puerile  and  distracted  as  school- 
boys on  the  eve  of  vacation.  From  the  mouth  of  the 
Scheldt,  in  the  less  biting  wind  that  blew  from  the  land, 
these  prisoners  had  sniffed  the  bouquet  of  future  liber- 
ties and  noisily  sniffed  the  odor  of  the  hospitable 
brothel. 

Far  from  bearing  a  grudge  against  these  wily  pilots 
who  flung  themselves  at  their  necks  only  to  fleece  them 
anew  by  exploiting  the  sudden  pangs  of  their  passions, 
the  good-natured  fellows  welcomed  them  as  heralds  of 
approaching  blow-outs  and  relaxations. 

No  less  than  thirty  boats,  each  one  manned  by  two 
or  three  runners,  clung  to  the  carcass  of  The  Dolphin 
with  the  ineluctable  stubbornness  of  an  octopus.  While 
the  sailors  organized  a  show  of  resistance,  pushing  the 
invaders  lightly  off  to  the  larboard,  the  latter  were 
boarding  them  from  the  starboard.  Pushed  back  from 
the  stem,  the  rascals  threw  themselves  aft,  where, 
massing  together  for  a  single  stroke,  they  began 
mounting  upon  each  other's  shoulders. 

One  climbed  upon  the  shoulders  or  sat  upon  the 
head  of  another,  who  balanced  all  his  weight  upon  the 
shoulder-blades  of  a  third.  The  bottom  man  supported 
the  weight  of  another  comrade,  upon  whom  a  fifth 
had  just  perched,  and  so  it  kept  up.    The  men  at  the 


3i6  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

bottom  whined,  panted,  snorted,  begged  them  to  hurry, 
exhausted  themselves;  the  men  on  top  romped  and 
joked;  heels  threatened  to  beat  in  jaw-bones,  hands 
knotted  themselves  into  the  hair,  sweaters  tore  with  a 
sharp  rip,  eyes  were  blinded  by  thighs  and  hips,  and 
thus  agglutinated,  tumbling  over  each  other,  they 
called  to  mind  the  free,  fine  fellows  of  the  kermesses, 
who  climbed  one  atop  the  other  until  the  highest  man 
could  fetch  down,  for  the  glory  of  all,  the  prizes  on  an 
inaccessible  greasy  mast.  At  each  oscillation  of  the 
boat,  which  was  continuing  to  plunge  along,  the  human 
pyramid  threatened  to  crumble  into  the  river ;  the  frail 
canoe  upon  which  the  whole  structure  rested  risked 
capsizing  with  its  whole  cargo. 

The  temerity  of  the  runners  stupefied  the  captain 
himself,  and  his  contempt  for  this  riff-raff  changed 
into  the  inexpressible  admiration  that  every  Anglo- 
Saxon  has  for  dare-devil  exploits. 

Courage !  One  more  effort  and  they  are  masters  of 
the  place ! 

After  boarding  her  the  first  thing  to  do  was  to 
share  the  spoils.  A  delicate  partition,  for  a  hundred 
birds  of  prey  could  be  counted  for  every  twenty  or 
thirty  souls  manning  the  schooner.  Harassed,  pulled 
from  every  quarter,  called  in  all  languages  and  from 
all  sides  at  the  same  time,  the  sailors  did  not  know  who 
to  listen  to.  The  deck  took  on  the  appearance  of  a 
stock-exchange.  From  group  to  group  the  value  rep- 
resented by  each  head  of  the  crew  was  being  debated. 
The  veterans  intimidated  the  weak  and  the  novices; 
crafty  ones  forced  the  booby s  to  give  place.  Some  of 
the  runners  began  to  retreat.  But  the  majority  quar- 
relled vigorously  and  bitterly;  the  talk  grew  livelier 
and  became  diatribe.    Teeth  were  shown,  fists  clenched. 


THE  RUNNERS  3^7 

foxes  became  wolves.  The  altercations  of  the  shore 
began  all  over  again;  more  envenomed  by  reason  of 
having  been  deferred,  they  were  now  being  decided  for 
good.  A  single  hand-to-hand  scuffle  was  enough  to 
commence  a  general  brawl.  They  cuffed  each  other, 
took  each  other  by  the  throat,  knocked  each  other 
down,  snatched  at  each  other  like  mastiffs,  fought 
tooth  and  nail,  and,  if  they  thought  themselves  worsted, 
resorted  to  underhand  blows. 

The  sailors  were  careful  not  to  interfere  in  these 
passages  at  arms  of  which  they  represented  the  ob- 
ject. Moreover,  they  were  too  crafty  to  thwart  this 
settlement  of  accounts.  They  made  a  circle  about  the 
fighters,  passive,  scared,  judging  the  outcome.  Their 
booty  would  belong  to  the  victors.  These  ferocious 
struggles  unloosed  by  the  petty  tradesmen  flattered, 
perhaps,  the  great  prodigals  who  were  bound  to  melt 
their  last  yellow-boys  in  some  furnace  or  other.  A 
black  eye,  a  cut  lip,  a  tooth  knocked  out,  a  few  cuts 
and  contusions  decided  the  victory.  Sprawled  out, 
the  victor's  knee  resting  heavily  upon  their  chests,  a 
few  gave  up  the  struggle  before  being  utterly  worsted. 
They  pitifully  rushed  back  into  their  boats  and  beat 
toward  Doel,  but  followed  The  Dolphin  from  a  dis- 
tance and  pursued  their  lucky  competitors  with 
jeers. 

Now  these  latter  were  cooling  off,  stanching  the 
blood  from  their  wounds,  repairing  the  ruins  and  the 
breeches  in  their  accoutrement  and  beneath  the  bucca- 
neer, heroic  in  his  hour,  there  appeared  the  sordid  traf- 
ficker, the  cash-box  trickster. 

They  fell  back  upon  the  sailors  just  as,  after  a 
decisive  battle  between  two  troops  of  ants,  the  victors 


3i8  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

hurry  to  carry  off  the  largest  green-flies  of  the  con- 
quered. 

Baskets  of  food,  packages  of  tobacco,  boxes  of  ci- 
gars, plugs  of  cavendish,  and  above  all  casks  of  liquor, 
beer,  wine,  whisky,  gaseous  imitation  champagne,  Bor- 
deaux more  or  less  adulterated  and  doctored  with 
alcohol,  spiced  and  peppered  so  as  to  take  the  jaw-bone 
off  a  bull,  emerged  and  bubbled  up  as  if  by  magic 
from  the  mysterious  hiding  places  where  the  fighters 
had  concealed  them.  The  battle-field  became  a  market- 
place, and  the  carnage  a  bivouac.  Corks  leaped  up 
and  bung-holes  perforated  the  casks.  Case  after  case 
was  tapped,  mugs  and  glasses  refilled,  and  the  sailors 
began  to  respond  to  the  advances  of  their  insinuating 
captors.  The  foul-mouthed  ruffians  became  demure 
and  almost  mincing. 

The  officers  contented  themselves  with  supervising 
the  execution  of  the  necessary  manoeuvres,  and  to  be 
certain,  put  their  own  hands  to  the  job.  And  grad- 
ually the  ambient  languor  won  them. 

"Oh!  lefs  hurry  and  finish  the  dull  and  changeless 
work  as  quickly  as  we  can,  and  strip  off  our  duties 
with  our  uniforms ;  humanize  ourselves,  yes,  even  make 
ourselves  animals!  And  while  we  are  waiting,  why 
not  taste  the  refreshments  that  these  ruffians  have 
brought  us  ?  For  the  last  three  weeks,  under  the  pre- 
text that  it  was  brandy,  the  steward  has  been  serving 
us  only  slops,  and  our  stomachs  reject  sea-biscuit,  and 
salted  and  preserved  meat !" 

Thus  monologued  the  officers,  as  they  paced  the 
deck.  The  austere  captain  himself  felt  weaker  and 
more  indulgent  than  was  his  wont. 

A  runner  divined  this  feeling,  for  he  approached  the 
captain,  and  with  a  coaxing  gesture,  poured  him  out  a 


THE  RUNNERS  319 

bumper  of  the  sparkling  mixture :  "A  glass  of  chamr 
pagne,  Captain !"  The  sea-wolf  looked  the  brazen  fel- 
low through  and  through,  ready  to  box  his  ears,  but 
the  irritated  oath  expired  between  the  wisps  of  his 
grey  mustache,  ventured  a  supercilious  grin,  and,  tan- 
talized, accepted  the  glass,  drained  it  at  a  single 
gulp,  smacked  his  lips,  and  tendered  it  to  the  cup- 
bearer that  he  might  fill  it  up  again. 

The  shrewd,  strange  fellow  who  had  just  led  him 
into  temptation  so  successfully,  did  not  cease  intriguing 
the  captain,  a  straight-laced  Presbyterian  who  was  also 
somewhat  of  a  Puritan.  Like  the  majority  of  his  fel- 
lows, this  runner  had  disguised  himself  as  a  midship- 
man. He  had  the  build  of  a  cabin-boy,  the  face  of  a 
girl,  and  fuller  hips  and  a  more  finely  molded  body 
than  the  other  ruffians  of  his  crew. 

"Where  the  devil  did  that  band  of  downright  ban- 
dits ever  find  such  nice  recruits?"  muttered  the  re- 
spectable captain,  and,  more  bothered  by  the  wheedling 
expression  of  the  cup-bearer  than  he  was  willing  to 
admit,  he  was  about  to  walk  away  when  the  pretended 
midshipman  threw  his  arms  about  the  captain's  neck, 
and  thus  revealed  his  double  disguise. 

"Damnation!"  yelled  the  captain,  seeing  stars. 
"They'll  finish  by  bringing  the  whole  of  their  cursed 
brothel  on  board !" 

"At  your  service,  Captain!" 

And  laughingly  she  pointed  out  the  lieutenants 
pestered  by  runners,  in  whom,  being  good  connoisseurs, 
they  had  not  delayed  sharing  the  agreeable  surprise  of 
their  captain! 

But  The  Dolphin  was  now  entering  the  roadstead. 

After  a  last  turn  in  the  river,  the  panorama  of  Ant- 
werp stretched  out  in  all  its  majestic  and  grandiose 


320  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

splendor.  For  more  than  a  league's  length  the  city  of- 
fered to  the  eyes  of  the  newcomers  an  imposing  view 
of  warehouses,  markets,  gables,  towers  and  belfries, 
dominated  by  the  pile  of  Notre  Dame.  This  lighthouse 
of  good  advice  warned  the  travellers  against  the  wiles 
and  the  ambushes  of  perdition  stretched  at  the  foot 
of  the  cathedral  as  the  serpent  curled  in  the  shade  of 
the  tree  of  life.  Twilight  was  coloring  the  admirable 
monument  with  rose,  glistening  in  the  lacy  stone-work, 
and  at  the  same  time  the  belfry  was  giving  full  flight 
to  the  notes  of  its  carillon.  .  .  . 

But  the  sailors  on  The  Dolphin  no  longer  raised 
their  eyes  to  that  height,  nor  heard  the  voices  of  the 
vesperal  chimes.  Why  had  the  high  pile  not  been 
visible  from  the  mouth  of  the  Scheldt,  and  the  great 
bell  had  not  been  audible  from  Doel  ?  The  emissaries 
of  the  devil  had  beaten  the  messengers  of  heaven. 
Even  when  they  found  themselves  in  the  presence  of 
these  good  spirits  they  had  ears  only  for  the  promises 
of  the  brokers  of  pleasure,  and  eyes  only  for  the  nar- 
row alleys  whose  windows  were  red  like  signals  of 
warning. 

As  soon  as  the  sailor  set  foot  on  short  the  runners 
led  him  off  without  protest  to  the  clandestine  dispen- 
saries where  the  lodging-house  keeper  was  in  partner- 
ship with  the  prostitute  to  detain  him  and  fleece  him. 
The  one  attacked  his  vigor,  the  other  busied  himself 
with  his  goods.  The  girl  having  worn  him  out,  the 
pimp  would  pluck  him  without  difficulty. 

In  order  to  deliver  him  bound  hand  and  foot  to  their 
masters,  the  runners  advanced  him  a  part  of  his  wages, 
and  then  made  him  turn  over  to  his  hosts  the  hand  full 
of  gold  amassed  at  the  price  of  a  labor  as  painful  as 


THE  RUNNERS  321 

torture.  From  thenceforth  the  poor  devil  no  longer 
belonged  to  himself. 

He  tore  himself  from  the  arms  of  the  street- walker 
only  to  get  drunk  with  the  ruffian. 

He  was  saddled  with  all  sorts  of  junk  at  exorbitant 
prices.  He  paid  ten  and  twenty  times  their  value  in 
order  to  present  them  to  friends,  to  those  who  had  just 
loaded  him  with  a  bottle  of  outrageous  perfume,  with 
loud  knick-knacks,  with  shell  mirrors,  with  English 
cutlery,  with  imitation  jewelry,  claptrap  and  glass  beads 
with  which  civilizers  could  no  longer  fascinate  Kaffirs 
or  Sioux.  He  was  never  allowed  out  alone,  nor  per- 
mitted to  leave  the  confines  of  the  district. 

All  day  long  he  leaned  against  the  bar  of  the  public 
room.  The  walls  were  hung  with  placards :  advertise- 
ments of  Old  Tom  gin,  the  red  triangles  of  pale  ale, 
the  brown  squares  of  stout.  Chromolithographs  from 
Christmas  Numbers  alternated  with  epileptic  pictures 
from  the  Police  News,  just  as  on  the  sideboard  the 
sirups  and  elixirs  tasting  like  pommade  stood  next  to 
the  corrosive  liquors. 

In  order  to  obtain  the  right  to  perpetually  gaze  at 
the  creature  chosen  for  his  affection,  he  swallowed  all 
the  poisons  displayed.  Little  by  little,  under  the  in- 
fluence of  these  libations,  she  seemed  to  take  on  the 
appearance  of  a  madonna  throned  in  a  sanctuary:  the 
smoke  of  his  pipe  became  incense,  the  sideboard  was 
reredos,  the  liquors  composed  the  subjects  of  stained- 
glass  windows,  and  spouting  oraisons  did  not  free  him 
from  the  fervor  of  his  stupidity.  Then  a  mocking 
laugh  would  bring  him  back  to  the  feeling  of  the  place 
in  which  he  foimd  himself,  and  the  goddess  whom  he 
invoked. 

If  his  drunkenness  turned  into  frenzy,  if  he  made  a 


322  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

racket  and  struggled  a  bit,  these  accesses  lasted  only 
a  few  moments. 

She  was  even  ordered  to  provoke  them  by  her 
coquetry,  for  not  only  was  his  jealousy  unprofitable,  but 
in  order  to  be  forgiven  his  whims,  he  would  be  more 
pliable  and  easy-going  than  ever.  To  again  conquer 
his  sullen  mistress  there  was  no  folly  that  he  would 
not  commit,  no  expensive  whim  he  would  not  grat- 
ify. 

Each  morning  the  lodging-house  keeper  gave  him  a 
louis  from  his  little  hoard,  and  every  night  he  had 
conscientiously  spent  his  tiny  sum.  He  paid  on  the 
spot  as  if  he  possessed  the  purse  of  Fortunatus. 

And  his  astonishment  on  the  day  when  the  boss  gave 
him  a  bill  showing  that  he  owed  almost  the  double  of 
what  he  thought  he  had.  This  time  the  pigeon  kicked 
over  the  traces  and  wanted  to  leave  for  good,  but  in 
anticipation  of  a  scuffle,  the  lodging-house  keeper  had 
paid  his  usual  satellites,  and  they  overpowered  the  re- 
calcitrant boarder.  He  was  also  threatened  with  the 
naval  police,  a  mysterious  power  unknown  to  this  sim- 
ple soul,  and  which  he  imagined  as  severe  as  the  In- 
quisition. A  great  dejection  followed  his  will  to  re- 
volt. Rather  than  go  to  prison,  he  would  sell  his 
carcass. 

And  here  began  the  most  sorrowful  phase  of  the 
transaction. 

The  Merchant  of  Venice  took  only  a  pound  of  flesh 
from  his  insolvent  debtor;  the  Shylocks  of  Antwerp 
morally  hacked  to  pieces  their  poor  debtor  in  raising 
up  a  series  of  tribulations  for  him ;  they  forced  him  to 
desert,  procured  him  a  new  berth,  took  the  advance 
pay  he  received,  forced  him  to  sign  another  contract, 
took  his  pay  again,  and  kept  up  this  game  until  the 


THE  RUNNERS  323 

consular  authorities  got  wind  of  it  and  prepared  to 
act. 

They  had  squeezed  him  dry  like  an  orange.  But  to 
believe  them  he  had  not  yet  paid  his  debts.  But  he 
had  become  compromising,  and  it  became  necessary  to 
get  rid  of  him.  For  fear  that  he  would  speak  and 
have  them  caught  they  hid  him  in  a  hovel  outside  the 
fortifications. 

Finally  they  bartered  the  poor  human  merchandise, 
so  greatly  wronged,  for  a  last  time,  to  an  unscrupulous 
captain,  and,  under  cover  of  a  dark  night,  a  runner,  al- 
ways ready  for  risky  jobs,  the  same  runner  who  had 
cajoled  and  intoxicated  him  on  board  the  Dolphin, 
loaded  the  poor  rebel  on  a  skiff  and  quietly  conducted 
him  on  board  the  smuggler. 

Hardly  returned  to  his  element,  to  his  rude  labor, 
the  sailor  no  longer  thought  of  the  vicissitudes  of  his 
last  harbor.  The  memory  of  recent  humiliations  was 
drowned  by  the  wind  of  the  open  sea. 

So  thoroughly  that  after  a  prolonged  trip  the  poor 
devil,  all  ready  to  begin  his  disastrous  experience  all 
over  again,  would  give  himself  body  and  soul  to  the 
evil  Tritons  of  the  banks  of  the  Scheldt. 

In  short,  there  was  no  one  but  these  pressers  to  offer 
him  absolute  refreshment ! 

At  the  ports  of  call  in  the  Antipodes,  in  those  ve- 
hement climates,  in  those  fiery  lands  peopled  by  beings 
with  lemonish  flesh,  reptilian  women  and  effeminate 
men,  among  populations  as  yellow  and  as  feline  as  their 
fevers,  Europeans  hold  their  lust  in  leash,  or  lend 
themselves  to  vice  only  with  the  repugnance  of  an 
apoplectic  who  has  a  pallet  of  blood  drawn  from  him. 

Or  they  go  to  the  brothel  as  a  danger,  drunkenly, 
with  an  air  of  bravado,  and  urged  to  stay  there,  de- 


324  'THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

bauch  themselves  furiously  in  the  opium-smoking  dens. 
An  intoxicating  flower,  spices,  poisons  and  the  odor- 
ous atmosphere  whip  them  and  pack  them  off  headlong 
to  an  exquisite  voluptuousness  followed  by  stupor  and 
remorse.  .  .  . 

Child-like  and  mystic  souls,  tasting  the  pleasure  only 
when  accompanied  by  an  undercurrent  of  intimacy  and 
fervor,  they  associate  with  their  loves  the  fresh,  steady, 
set  breezes  of  northern  seas,  the  lenifying  temperatures 
of  occidental  shores,  the  virile  gusts,  even  the  crabbed 
cordiality  of  the  squalls,  the  sharp  shifting  of  the  wind 
after  the  enervating  caress  of  the  trade-winds;  the 
tender  smile  of  the  north,  the  friendly  curtains  of 
clouds  drawn  over  the  implacable  glare,  and  the  al- 
most lustral  kiss  of  the  first  fog.  .  .  . 

In  return,  they  reproached  themselves  for  their  com- 
merce with  pagan  women  as  if  it  had  been  a  sacre- 
ligious  rite. 

And  they  never  looked  back  upon  these  crimes  with- 
out there  also  rising  up  before  them  the  nightmare  of 
the  anguish  of  typhoons  and  cyclones  during  which  the 
occult  priestesses  of  Siva,  with  the  winding  and  the 
blowing  of  trumpets,  seemed  to  pump  boiling  oil  from 
the  sea,  only  to  substitute  for  it  the  tellurian  lava 
and  the  fusing  metals  of  the  firmament.  .  .  . 


VI 
THE  CARNIVAL 

Obviously,  Laurent's  relations  with  the  dangerous 
and  poorer  strata  of  the  population  did  not  proceed 
without  an  unbridled  prodigality.  One  would  have 
said  that,  in  order  to  more  closely  resemble  the  people 
around  him,  he  longed  not  to  have  a  cent  to  bless  him- 
self with.  The  vague  disgust,  mingled  with  terror, 
that  he  had  conceived  for  the  money  even  on  the  day 
of  his  majority,  when  he  had  barely  come  into  pos- 
session of  his  little  hoard,  had  only  augmented  since 
his  discussion  with  the  Tilbaks. 

As  in  Das  Rheingold,  in  the  Wagnerian  tetralogy,  he 
attributed  a  malignant  virtue  to  capital,  the  cause  of 
all  human  calamities,  and  to  it  he  also  ascribed  his 
personal  afflictions.  Had  not  the  money  separated  him 
from  both  Regina  and  Henriette  ?  That  money  which 
had  not  even  been  powerful  enough  to  do  him  the  great 
service  of  keeping  in  Antwerp  his  dear  friends  of  the 
Cocoanut ! 

However,  at  the  rate  at  which  he  had  been  abusing 
his  property,  it  would  hardly  last  for  a  year. 

After  the  departure  of  the  emigrants  and  his  break 
with  Bergmans  there  had  been  no  check  and  no  more 
exhortation  to  stop  him.     He  tasted  the  delight  of 

325 


326  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

ridding  himself  of  his  abhorred  gold,  rolling  it  in  the 
gutter  or  scattering  it  in  starved  surroundings  where 
it  rarely  consented  to  glisten.  He  paraded  as  much 
contempt  for  this  lever  of  the  modern  world  as  the 
traders  dedicated  respect  and  idolatry  to  it. 

He  invented  any  number  of  extravagances  in  order 
to  scandalize  an  essentially  timorous  and  bashful  bour- 
geoisie, until  his  visible  dissipation  outraged,  as  a  sac- 
rilege and  a  blasphemy,  hoarders  and  systematic  peo- 
ple. He  would  have  been  pardoned  his  other  eccen- 
tricities, his  degradation  of  body  and  soul,  his  open 
struggle  against  society,  but  his  savage  squandering 
procured  him  only  the  anathema  of  even  the  most  tol- 
erant spirits. 

Had  he  not  taken  it  into  his  head,  after  having  dined 
too  well,  to  walk  in  broad  daylight  with  his  hardly 
respectable  friends,  the  assistant  riding-master  and  the 
stud-groom  of  a  bankrupt  riding  school,  who  were  no 
less  intoxicated  than  himself,  through  the  most 
crowded  streets  in  order  to  meet  the  business  men  on 
their  way  to  the  Exchange?  As  an  excess  of  provo- 
cation the  restaurant  porter  walked  a  few  feet  in  front 
of  the  edifying  trio,  carrying  on  each  arm,  as  a  banner, 
a  bottle  of  the  best  champagne.  And  with  this  pomp 
the  three  gay  dogs  undertook  the  ascension  of  the 
Haute  tour  and,  when  they  came  to  the  highest  balcony, 
above  the  carillon  and  the  bell  chamber,  they  gloriously 
sipped  the  sparkling  liquor,  and  then  threw  the  bot- 
tles down  into  the  square  at  the  risk  of  stoning  the 
cabbies  stationed  at  the  foot  of  the  monimient. 

He  often  paid  for  rounds  of  liquor  for  all  the  dock- 
ers working  on  the  quays.  On  the  watch  at  the  bar, 
Paridael  prevented  the  bartender  from  accepting  pay- 
ment from  the  drinkers  as  fast  as  they  stood  on  line,  in 


THE  CARNIVAL  327 

whole  gangs,  each  telling  the  other  of  the  good  fortune 
that  awaited  them. 

And  many  a  time  there  were  interminable  sprees 
with  whole  crews  or  companies  of  troopers,  tip- 
pling from  dive  to  dive,  pilgrimages  to  the  sanctu- 
aries of  love,  the  whole  stressed  by  brawls  and  scuffles 
with  the  police. 

But  one  could  have  discovered  a  noble  motive  at  the 
bottom  of  his  greatest  excesses ;  a  need  for  expansion, 
protection  of  the  weak,  disguised  charity,  a  limitless 
compassion,  the  happiness  of  procuring  some  little 
pleasure  and  some  moments  of  peace  for  the  down- 
trodden. It  seemed  as  if,  in  indulging  himself  in  so 
fantastic  a  slaughter  of  coins  and  banknotes,  the  spend- 
thrift wanted  to  put  at  their  ease  the  beggars  whom  he 
was  helping,  and  justify  their  eventual  forget  fulness. 
By  holding  at  such  a  small  value  that  which  he  was 
scattering  about  him,  he  absolved  the  recipients  of  all 
gratitude.  To  the  poor  devils  who  melted  into  thanks 
he  would  say :  "Take  it ;  take  all  you  can  get.  Pocket 
it  all,  and  a  truce  to  your  thanks.  ...  As  well  as 
someone  else.  ...  I  would  have  none  of  the  money 
by  tonight,  anyway !" 

His  charities  appeared  to  be  as  untimely  and  as  im- 
moderate as  his  pranks.  Not  only  had  he  aided  the 
flight  and  the  desertion  of  a  prisoner,  but  he  bought 
back  many  sailors  from  their  vampires,  repatriated 
emigrants,  and  harbored  liberated  convicts. 

All  during  a  winter,  a  terrible  winter  when  the 
Scheldt  was  ice-bound,  he  visited  the  homes  of  day- 
laborers  and  mechanics.  He  gave  himself  out  for  an 
anonymous  delegate  from  the  charities,  emptied  his 
pockets  onto  the  table  or  mantlepiece,  and  before  the 
starving  people  had  time  to  discover  the  importance  of 


328  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

his  offering,  ran  down  the  stairs  as  if  he  had  robbed 
and  pillaged  these  paupers. 

He  never  forgot,  among  all  the  calls  in  his  errands 
of  mercy,  the  garret  in  which  a  brood  of  children  rang- 
ing from  one  to  five  years  old  were  crying  in  a  pack- 
ing case  stuffed  with  shavings,  a  litter  too  fetid  even 
for  a  hutch.  It  seemed,  as  he  listened  to  their  crying 
and  saw  their  convulsions,  that  hunger  herself  was 
bending  over  them  and  that  her  nails,  scraping  their 
wasted  bodies,  were  skinning  them  as  the  rake  of  a 
greedy  gleaner  scrapes  fallow-land  that  has  already 
been  reaped. 

Leaning  backward  in  a  comer,  at  the  other  end  of 
the  garret,  as  far  away  as  possible  from  their  agony, 
the  father,  a  widower,  a  powerful  and  muscular  calker 
from  the  Basins,  whose  flesh  and  blood  misery  had  not 
yet  succeeded  in  exhausting,  was  without  doubt  medi- 
tating the  prompt  and  violent  destruction  of  his  use- 
less strength. 

With  a  roar  and  a  vivid  gesture  that  would  bear 
no  reply,  the  wretched  man  commanded  the  intruder 
to  relieve  him  of  his  presence,  but  the  increasing  piti- 
ableness  of  the  children's  wailing  was  as  imperious  as 
the  father's  comminatory  attitude,  and,  spurred  on, 
though  almost  sure  of  being  killed,  but  not  wishing 
to  survive  these  innocents,  Laurent  walked  toward  the 
despairing  man  and  offered  him  a  twenty  franc 
piece. 

It  was  more  blinding  than  the  sunshine,  for  the 
giant  could  not  bear  the  gleam  of  it,  and  turned  to- 
ward the  wall,  like  a  sulky,  shame-stricken  child,  rais- 
ing his  hands  to  eyes,  tormented  to  the  point  of  tears ! 
And  it  was  so  heavy  that,  when  Laurent  had  slipped  it 
into  his  other  hand,  his  huge  fingers  let  it  drop ! 


THE  CARNIVAL  329 

The  gold  rang  like  an  angelus,  a  message  from 
Providence,  for  the  abominable  reaper  abandoned  this 
meager  rake- full  of  human  grain,  and  the  wailing  sub- 
sided. 

And  suddenly,  like  a  madman,  the  man  threw  his 
arms  around  Paridaers  neck,  and  hid  his  good  plebian 
head  on  the  shoulder  of  the  declassed  man.  And  Pari- 
dael,  bruised  against  that  great  and  sobbing  breast,  be- 
dewed with  the  warm  tears  of  gratitude,  no  less  mad 
than  the  workingman  himself,  swooned  in  the  bosom 
of  infinite  beatitudes  and  thought  the  hour  of  the  as- 
sumption promised  to  the  elect  of  the  Saviour  had 
already  arrived !  And  never  had  he  lived  with  a  more 
intense  life,  nor  found  himself  nearer  death! 

That  did  not  prevent  him,  upon  leaving  this  pathetic 
meeting,  from  consecrating  a  part  of  his  money,  that 
very  evening,  to  his  debauchery,  and  from  throwing 
himself  body  and  soul  into  bestiality. 

He  particularly  distinguished  himself  during  the  car- 
nival of  that  same  calamitous  winter.  Never  in  the 
memory  of  Antwerp  had  Shrovetide  unloosed  so  much 
license  nor  been  celebrated  with  such  gusto.  The  gen- 
eral misery  and  distress  were  taken  as  a  pretext  to  mul- 
tiply the  celebrations  for  the  benefit  of  the  poor.  The 
people  themselves  were  swept  by  giddiness,  took*  a 
double  holiday,  sought  in  a  fleeting  drunkenness  and 
brutishness  a  refuge  from  the  sinister  reality,  cele- 
brated like  a  ragged  Decameron  this  exceptional  car- 
nival which,  instead  of  preceding  Lent,  fell  in  a  season 
of  absolute  abstinence  unforeseen  by  the  Church, 
which  the  Curia  would  have  never  dared  impose  even 
in  its  severest  mandates. 

Not  being  any  longer  able  to  procure  food,  the  poor 
devils  found  means  to  get  enough  to  drink.    Besides 


330  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

being  cheaper  than  bread,  alcohol  deceived  their  sudden 
pangs  of  hunger  and  deadened  the  twinges  of  their 
stomachs.  A  wretched  man  spends  more  time  in  sleep- 
ing off  the  effects  of  bitter  gin  than  in  digesting  a 
ridiculous  mouthful  of  bread.  And  the  fumes  of  the 
liquor,  heavy  and  dense  as  the  splenetic  fogs  of  the 
country,  passed  away  the  more  slowly  lest  the  new 
blood  again  become  cold  in  their  veins.  They  procured 
a  bizarre  and  brutal  drunkenness  during  which  the 
stupefied  organs  demanded  no  food  and  the  instincts 
slept  like  reptiles  in  torpor. 

For  three  nights  the  Theatre  des  Varietes,  uniting 
in  a  single  immense  hall  its  suite  of  four  huge  rooms, 
swarmed  with  a  rutilant  mob,  blazed  with  lights,  re- 
sounded with  savage  music  and  furious  stamping. 
Within,  there  reigned  a  hubbub  and  a  confusion  of  all 
castes  almost  as  great  as  in  the  street.  Ladies  and 
lorettes,  foreladies  and  shop-girls,  grisettes  and  prosti- 
tutes fluttered  about  in  the  same  quadrilles.  Silk  and 
satin  dominos  rubbed  against  horrible  hired  cloaks. 
During  intermissions,  while  young  swells  in  full  dress 
were  leading  a  mistress  for  whose  sake  they  had  de- 
serted their  fiancees  into  the  little  withdrawing  room, 
and  treating  her  to  the  classic  dozen  of  "Zeeland" 
sprinkled  with  Roederer,  the  vaults  beneath  the  danc- 
ing floor,  converted  into  a  Gargantuan  cook-shop, 
claimed  the  less  fashionable  couples  and  groups  who 
were  cramming  themselves,  in  the  midst  of  the  strong 
exhalations  of  pipes,  with  boiled  sausage,  and  were 
flooding  themselves  with  a  sparkling,  white  Louvain 
beer,  the  popular  champagne,  which  was  not  at 
all  heady,  but  which  cleansed  out  their  bladders 
without  having  any  other  effect  upon  their  organ- 
isms. 


THE  CARNIVAL  331 

Towards  morning,  the  hour  of  the  last  cancans, 
these  crypts  of  the  temple  of  Momus  presented  the  lu- 
gubrious appearance  of  a  community  of  troglodytes 
exhausted  by  too  strenuous  incantations. 

During  the  length  of  the  carnival  Laurent  made  it  a 
point  of  honor  never  to  see  his  bed,  nor  quit  his  tattered 
Pierrot  domino. 

The  street  carnival  intrigued  him  no  less  than  the 
nocturnal  dissipations.  Loafing  in  the  streets  that  had 
been  turned  over  to  the  maskers,  he  was  wherever  the 
sport  was  at  its  giddiest,  the  crowd  most  effervescent. 
The  din  of  horns  and  rattles  reverberated  from  street 
to  street,  and  pig-bladders  blown  up  and  brandished 
like  clubs  beat  down  with  an  ill  thud  upon  the  backs  of 
wayfarers.  Maskers,  false  sinners,  aggravated  the 
crush,  and  were  thrusting  forth  like  fishhooks  at  the 
end  of  lines  small  loaves  of  bread  smeared  with  mo- 
lasses which  gamins  as  frisky  and  as  voracious  as  ab- 
lests  were  struggling  to  snatch,  though  they  were  only 
succeeding  in  smudging  their  faces. 

But  Paridael  was  especially  fond  of  the  war  of 
pepernotes,  the  true  originality  of  Antwerp  carnivals. 
He  converted  a  great  part  of  his  last  coins  into  bags 
of  these  "pepper  nuts,"  northern  confetti,  large,  cubic 
hailstones  as  hard  as  rocks,  which  were  sold  by  the 
butchers,  and  with  which,  from  afternoon  to  twilight, 
hot  battles  were  fought  between  the  ladies  crowded  in 
windows  or  balconies,  and  the  gallants  stationed  in  the 
streets,  or  between  the  riders  upon  the  floats  and  the 
pedestrians  who  passed  them  in  review. 

On  the  afternoon  of  Shrove-Tuesday  Laurent  recog- 
nized in  the  recess  of  a  window  in  the  Hotel  Saint-An- 
toine,  rented  at  an  enormous  tariff  for  the  occasion, 


332  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

Mesdames  Bejard,  Falk,  Lesly  and  both  the  little  Saint- 
Fardiers. 

He  had  not  seen  his  cousin  since  the  sacking  of  the 
Bejard  mansion,  and  he  was  astonished  at  feeling,  at 
the  sight  of  his  so  idolized  Gina,  only  spite  and  a  sort 
of  bitterness.  He  grudged  her,  so  to  speak,  his  love 
for  her.  His  stormy  Hfe  and  the  desolation  of  the 
pariahs  with  whom  he  had  come  into  contact  were  not 
foreign  to  this  sudden  change. 

But  the  catastrophe  of  The  Gina  had  complicated 
this  antipathy  with  a  superstitious  terror  and  aversion. 
The  nymph  of  the  drain,  the  evil  genius  of  the  Dobou- 
ziez  manufactory,  was  now  exercising  her  evil  influence 
over  the  whole  city.  She  was  poisoning  the  Scheldt 
and  contaminating  the  ocean. 

The  vague  sadness  which  her  face  reflected,  the  in- 
dolent part  which  she  took  in  the  battle  of  pepernotes, 
the  nonchalance  with  which  she  defended  herself  would 
without  doubt  at  any  other  time  have  disarmed  and 
softened  the  heart  of  the  worshipping  Paridael. 

It  cannot  be  said  that  at  any  other  time  he  would 
not  have  again  found  something  of  his  early  religion 
for  the  lofty  idol,  but  he  was  in  one  of  his  days,  now 
ever  more  frequent,  of  ill-humor  and  of  biting  irasci- 
bility, in  one  of  those  states  of  mind  in  which,  gorged 
and  saturated  with  rancor,  he  had  a  desire  to  smash 
some  precious  bibelot,  to  damage  some  work  whose 
symmetry  and  immutable  serenity  seemed  an  insult 
to  the  general  distress;  a  critical  juncture  in  which 
one  is  capable  of  tormenting  and  hurting  in  every  way 
the  most  beloved  person. 

He  found  it  piquant  to  join  the  batallion  of  young 
fops  who,  stationed  on  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  the 
hotel,  that  they  might  be  easily  seen,  were  paying  horn- 


THE  CARNIVAL  333 

age  to  the  young  ladies  by  languidly  letting  fly,  from 
the  tips  of  their  gloved  fingers,  one  pep  emote  at  a 
time.  Among  these  handsome  gentlemen  were  the  two 
Saint-Fardiers,  von  Frans,  the  dapper  captain  of  the 
civic  horse-guards,  Ditmayr,  the  rich  woollen-mer- 
chant, and  a  swarthy,  exotic-looking  man,  wearing  a 
red  tie  and  dogskin  gloves,  whom  Laurent  saw  for  the 
first  time. 

Irritated  by  the  phlegm  and  the  blase  air  of  Madame 
Bejard  as  much  as  by  the  ostentation  and  delicate  airs 
of  the  fops,  he  resolved  not  to  spare  her,  even  prom- 
ised himself  to  lose  his  patience,  to  pelt  her,  to  force 
her  to  withdraw  from  the  scene.  Rummaging  in  his 
deep  pockets,  he  set  himself  to  hurl  handfulls  of  peper- 
notes  at  the  impassive  beauty.  It  was  a  continual 
volley  of  shrapnel.  The  projectiles,  thrown  with  in- 
creasing force,  were  always  aimed  at  Madame  Bejard 
and  especially  at  her  face. 

After  a  furtive  examination  of  the  dishevelled  Pier- 
rot, she  affected  to  pay  no  more  attention  to  him  for 
a  long  while.  Then,  in  the  face  of  the  impetuosity  and 
the  tenacity  of  his  aggression,  she  let  fall,  at  two  or 
three  repetitions,  a  disdainful  look  upon  the  fellow, 
and  proceeded  to  chatter  away  to  her  companions  in 
the  most  detached  manner. 

This  air  only  enraged  Laurent.  He  no  longer  ob- 
served the  slightest  restraint.  She  would  notice  him, 
or  leave  her  place.  At  present  he  was  throwing  like 
a  madman. 

He  was  looked  at  askance  from  the  beginning  by  the 
fashionable  clique  to  whom  he  was  lending  such  fur- 
ious reinforcement,  and  the  gentlemen,  having  become 
more  and  more  annoyed  by  the  reveller,  left  the  game, 
repudiating  and  disavowing  so  ragged  a  partner. 


334  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

Those  around  them,  on  the  contrary,  were  hugely 
enjoying  the  cruel  ballistics.  The  people  were  ready 
to  take  the  part  of  the  intruder,  whose  looks  and  ap- 
parel proclaimed  him  to  be  one  of  them,  against  the 
gallants.  It  was  a  little  to  their  servility  and  to  their 
collective  objection  that  the  patrician  lady  was  oppos- 
ing her  ever  more  irritating  disdain. 

A  few  drops  of  blood  fell  from  a  slight  wound  on 
Gina's  cheek  made  by  the  hail  of  Paridael's  ammuni- 
tion. She  barely  turned  her  head  away,  made  a  little 
face  of  disgust,  and  far  from  honoring  her  discour- 
teous adversary  with  a  retort,  she  mechanically  threw 
a  handfull  of  pepernotes  toward  the  other  side  of  the 
square. 

"Enough!"  cried  the  fops,  looking  as  though  they 
were  about  to  interfere.    "Enough,  you  cad !" 

But  some  rough-looking  comrades  wedged  in  be- 
tween Paridael  and  those  who  were  threatening  him, 
crying:  "Well  aimed,  old  boy!  Go  it!  Let  him 
alone.  .  .  .  If  s  carnival  time !  .  .  .  Free  play!  Free 
play!" 

Paridael  heard  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  Made 
feverish  by  the  exercise,  like  a  sportsman  breaking 
some  record,  he  had  neither  eyes  nor  attention  for 
anyone  but  Regina.  He  lashed  her  and  riddled  her  with 
real  animosity.  His  wiry  arm  performed  the  function 
of  a  sling  with  as  much  violence  as  precision. 

In  the  heat  of  the  firing,  each  volley  brought  him 
nearer  to  her,  the  force  of  his  throw  carried  him  along 
with  his  shot,  and  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  his  fingers 
had  lengthened  until  they  touched  her  cheeks,  and  that 
he  was  tearing  her  skin  with  his  nails ! 

Gina,  no  less  stubborn,  persisted  in  serving  as  a 


THE  CARNIVAL  '335 

target  for  him,  unflinchingly  continued  to  laugh,  did 
not  even  deign  to  protect  her  face  with  her  hands. 

She  had  not  recognized  Laurent,  but  she  took  pleas- 
ure in  exasperating  this  truculent  ragamuffin  and  in 
driving  him  to  extremities,  firmly  resolved  not  to  al- 
low her  force  of  character  to  flag  beneath  the  hostile 
gaze  of  the  populace. 

Laurent  had  come  to  that  point  of  blind  rage  in 
which  a  scuffle  began  as  a  joke,  degenerates  into  a  mas- 
sacre. In  default  of  other  ammunition,  he  would  Have 
thrown  pebbles  and  stoned  her.  The  bonbons  seemed 
to  grow  hard  in  the  pressure  of  his  sinewy  hands,  and 
such  was  the  anxious  silence  of  the  crowd  that  they 
could  be  heard  beating  against  the  panes  of  glass,  the 
walls  and  even  Gina's  face. 

Finally,  her  face  was  covered  with  blood.  Angela 
and  Cora  made  Regina  return  into  the  room  and  closed 
the  shutters  after  her. 

With  a  final  handfuU  of  pepernotes,  Laurent  cracked 
the  window  behind  which  the  courageous  woman  had 
appeared. 

Then  panting,  weary  as  though  from  drudgery,  as 
careless  of  the  growling  and  the  murmur  of  reproba- 
tion which  his  brutality  drew  from  the  well-dressed 
folk  as  he  was  of  the  amused  laugh  of  the  populace,  he 
lost  himself  in  the  crowd,  hastily  gained  a  cross  street 
away  from  the  tumult  and  the  swarm;  and  there, 
seized  with  shame  and  remorse,  his  former  idolatry 
suddenly  reacting  against  his  sacreligious  outburst,  he 
burst  into  tears  that  smeared  his  makeup  and  made  him 
look  like  the  "little  savage"  daubed  by  Gina,  twenty 
years  before,  in  the  garden  of  the  factory. 

A  crowd  which  imperceptibly  formed  about  this  cry- 
ing Pierrot  brought  him  back  so  sharply  to  his  role  of 


336  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

brazen  and  bragging  reveller  that  the  onlookers  could 
have  imagined  that  he  was  crying  from  laughter. 

Toward  evening  he  joined  several  poor  devils  of 
dancers  from  an  insolvent  theater,  whom  he  was  taking 
to  dine  at  Casti's,  the  fashionable  restaurant.  It  was 
to  be  his  last  feast !  No  matter  what  he  did  to  forget 
his  thoughts,  he  found  himself  lacking  in  spirit.  In- 
stead of  enlivening  him,  the  wine  only  made  him  more 
sorrowful.  Moreover,  he  was  exhausted  with  fa- 
tigue. He  grew  drowsy  in  the  middle  of  the  re- 
past while  around  him  the  others  gorged  and  drank  in 
silence. 

Partly  in  dream,  partly  in  revery,  certain  landscapes 
came  back  to  him  like  a  sweet  vexation.  His  past,  his 
lost  life  whispered  in  gusts  loaded  with  moldiness,  with 
rancid  perfume,  with  a  sickening  roar,  and,  in  this 
retrospective  and  intermittent  breeze,  there  tumbled 
the  rough  flourishes  heard  every  evening  in  low  caba- 
rets. The  uselessness  of  his  days  defiled  before  Lau- 
rent like  a  macabre  procession,  a  trail  of  clowns  and 
slick  Pierrots,  trifling,  lisping  cold  and  plaintive, 
whom  salacious  paroxysms  electrified,  and  who 
twisted  and  mingled  in  dances  as  lascivious  as  the  spasm 
itself.  .  .  . 

As  he  was  finally  falling  asleep,  indifferent  to  the 
grateful  and  almost  canine  caresses  of  a  girl,  he 
jumped  up  suddenly  at  a  lively  explanation  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  stairs,  followed  by  footsteps  upon  the  stair- 
way, then  in  the  hall,  that  drew  near  the  room  in  which 
Laurent  was  dining,  but  which  stopped  before  the  next 
door. 

"Open!  In  the  name  of  the  law!"  commanded  a 
grave  voice,  with  the  brutally  professional  intonation 
of  a  superintendent  of  police. 


THE  CARNIVAL  337 

Laurent,  having  come  to  his  senses  in  a  minute,  com- 
manded his  companions  to  be  silent,  and  at  the  same 
time  put  his  ear  to  the  partition  separating  the  two 
rooms. 

Cries,  confusion,  the  sound  of  breakage,  a  window 
being  opened,  but  no  reply.  Then  the  crash  of  the 
door  being  broken  in. 

Insurgent  by  instinct  against  all  authority,  ready 
to  take  the  part  of  the  f casters  against  the  police,  Lau- 
rent flew  outside,  and  above  the  shoulders  of  the  super- 
intendent of  police  who  had  stopped  at  the  sill  of  the 
door,  above  those  of  Bejard,  of  Athanasius  and  Gas- 
ton, he  saw,  to  his  consternation,  Angele  and  Cora 
crouching  each  one  in  a  corner  of  the  room  and  forc- 
ing themselves  to  disguise  in  the  folds  of  the  window- 
curtain  the  pagan  simplicity  of  their  toilette.  Not  far 
from  them,  seeking  to  put  on  a  face,  a  dignified  and 
resolute  air,  incompatable,  however,  with  a  state  of 
attire  as  makeshift  as  that  of  their  fair  ladies,  stood 
the  elegant  von  Frans  and  the  tall  Ditmayr  and — easily 
recognizable,  although  he  was  no  longer  wearing  his 
red  tie  and  dogskin  gloves — the  swarthy  pimp  whom 
Laurent  had  that  afternoon  taught  how  to  throw  peper- 
notes. 

The  husbands  were  perhaps  even  more  astounded 
and  more  overwhelmed  than  the  gallants;  this  was 
the  case,  at  least,  with  the  young  Saint-Fardiers.  The 
superintendent  of  police  himself  lost  assurance,  and 
became  confused  in  his  procedure. 

But  the  humorous  side  of  this  modernist  scene  did 
not  in  the  least  strike  Laurent ;  he  could  only  consider 
and  figure  out  the  consequence  of  the  crash. 

The  presence  of  Bejard,  moreover,  would  have  been 
sufficient  to  remove  any  desire  to  laugh.    Alone  among 


338  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

them  the  ugly  hypocrite  seemed  at  his  ease.  One  would 
have  even  thought  that  the  scandal  rejoiced  him.  In 
any  case  he  was  the  man  to  have  first  fomented  it  and 
brought  it  to  its  consummation.  Who  could  say  with 
what  black  infamy  he  would  complicate  the  deplor- 
able scandal  ? 

He  alone  had  gone  into  the  room.  He  went  from 
the  table  to  the  window,  handled  the  dishes  and  the 
tablecloth,  ferreted  into  the  corners,  showed  an  ap- 
palling presence  of  mind,  directed  the  investigation, 
pointed  out  to  the  superintendent  the  pieces  of  evi- 
dence, pushed  his  impudence  to  the  point  of  crumpling 
and  rummaging  the  garments  strewn  about  the  furni- 
ture, and,  without  worrying  about  the  presence  of  the 
wretched  adulteresses,  even  found  the  spirit  to 
joke. 

"There  were  six  places  set !  One  of  the  male  birds, 
no,  one  of  the  female  birds  has  taken  flight  by  the  win- 
dow, helping  herself  with  a  curtain,  torn  down,  as  you 
see.  ...  It  was  even  worse  than  a  party  of  two 
couples;  a  cubic  party.  .  .  .  What  a  pity!  I  should 
like  to  have  seen  the  fugitive!  I'll  bet  she  was  the 
prettiest  of  all!'* 

He  put  so  treacherous  a  meaning  into  these  last 
words,  he  allowed  such  a  devilish  double  meaning  to 
pierce  this  reticence  that  a  sinister  light  penetrated 
Laurent's  spirit  and  he  threw  himself  forward  toward 
Bejard  to  treat  him  like  a  coward. 

Bejard  contented  himself  with  surveying  this  im- 
pertinent reveller  from  head  to  foot  and  immediately 
going  on  with  his  investigations,  but  the  violent  en- 
trance of  Paridael  recalled  the  superintendent  to  his 
role. 

"Hey,  you,  Pierrot?  .  .  ,    Get  out,  quickly!    This 


THE  CARNIVAL  339 

is  none  of  your  business !"  he  said,  taking  Laurent  by 
the  arm  and  pushing  him  out ;  then  turning  to  Bejard 
and  the  two  husbands:  "I  think  the  facts  have  been 
sufficiently  established,  Monsieur  Bejard,  and  that  it  is 
superfluous  to  prolong  this  delicate  situation.  We  can 
therefore  retire." 

After  coughing,  he  added  in  a  constrained  tone,  as 
if  modesty  prevented  him  from  speaking  directly  to 
the  lightly  clad  culprits :  "These  gentlemen  and  ladies 
will  have  the  kindness  to  join  us  at  the  commissariat 
for  the  little  formalities  that  we  still  have  to  go 
through!" 

Laurent,  contrary  to  his  usual  habit,  thought  it  use- 
less to  resist.  He  would  find  the  superintendent  of 
police  again.    Bejard  would  lose  nothing  by  waiting! 

For  the  moment  another  duty  was  incumbent  upon 
Laurent. 

Guilty  or  not,  Gina  had  to  be  warned  of  what  had 
just  taken  place  and  of  the  manner  in  which  Bejard 
had  spoken  of  her.  .  .  .  Laurent  rushed  to  the  street 
like  a  madman,  hailed  a  cabby,  jumped  into  the  fiacre : 

"ToBejard^s!" 

He  tore  at  the  bell,  jostled  the  footman,  entered  an 
illuminated  room  like  a  housebreaker. 

Gina  screamed  loudly,  first  at  recognizing  her  Pier- 
rot of  that  afternoon,  and  then,  beneath  his  disordered 
costume  and  the  remainder  of  his  makeup,  her  cousin 
Laurent  Paridael. 

He  snatched  her  brutally  by  the  hand :  "A  yes  or  no, 
Gina;  were  you  at  Casti's  restaurant  this  evening?" 

"I !    From  what  asylum  have  you  escaped  ?" 

He  told  her,  in  one  breath,  the  scandal  whicH  he 
had  just  attended. 

"The  wretch !"  she  cried,  as  she  heard  the  role  played 


340  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

by  Bejard  in  the  vile  performance.  "I  have  not  Keen 
out  of  the  house  this  evening.  Is  not  my  word  enough 
for  you?  Here,  the  postmarks  on  this  registered  let- 
ter prove  that  it  was  delivered  to  me  about  an  hour 
ago.  I  was  just  finishing  my  reply  to  it  when  you 
burst  in,  and  you  will  admit  that  it  would  take  easily 
an  hour  to  fill  these  four  pages  with  a  handwriting  as 
close  as  mine." 

In  order  to  be  satisfied  Laurent  had  no  need  of  an 
irrefutable  proof;  everything  about  Gina  proclaimed 
her  innocence ;  her  air  of  repose,  her  house-gown,  her 
coiffure,  arranged  for  the  night,  the  sound  of  her  voice, 
the  honest  look  in  her  eyes,  even  the  cool  and  calm  per- 
fume that  she  herself  exhaled. 

"Forgive  me,  cousin,  for  having  doubted  you  for  a 
moment.  .  .  .  Forgive  me,  above  all,  my  conduct  of 
this  afternoon.  .  .  ." 

"I  have  already  forgotten  that  nonsense.  ...  Ah ! 
Laurent,  it  is  rather  I  who  should  ask  your  pardon! 
Have  I  not  been  cruel  toward  everyone,  but  especially 
toward  you,  my  poor  Laurent!  ...  Be  merciful  to 
me.  Just  now  I  need  to  be  spared!  I  am  expiating 
my  coquetry! 

"For  a  long  time  you  have  hated  Bejard,  haven't 
you?  You  will  never  hate  him  enough!  He  is  the 
enemy  of  us  all,  the  malignant  beast  par  excellence 
lence.  .  .  .  You  know  about  the  shipwreck  of  The 
Gina!  Well,  it  is  a  horrible  thing  to  say,  but  I  am 
convinced  that  the  wretch  anticipated  the  disaster,  that 
it  even  entered  into  his  calculations.  Yes,  he  knew 
that  the  boat  wouldn't  hold  water  very  much  longer !" 

"No!  Oh,  no!  Don't  say  that!  Bejard  was  an 
angel  two  minutes  ago!  Bejard  was  as  good  as 
Jesus !  .  .  .    He  knew  that;  he  wanted  that  shipwreck ! 


THE  CARNIVAL  341 

God!  God!  God!  Oh,  no!  .  .  ."  cried  Laurent,  bury- 
ing his  head  in  his  hand,  and  stopping  up  his  ears. 

"Yes,  I  would  take  an  oath  upon  my  soul  that  he 
knew  about  it.  He  distrusted  me.  He  knew  that  I 
divined  it ;  he  feared  me.  He  is  afraid  that  I  may  talk. 
I  know  that  he  planned,  with  old  Saint-Fardier,  to 
have  you  shut  up  as  a  lunatic.  And  had  it  not  been 
for  my  father,  they  would  have  done  it.  Crazy !  Any- 
one would  go  crazy  in  such  surroundings.  It  is  a 
miracle  that  I  have  preserved  my  sanity.  I  would 
swear  that  this  evening's  plot  was  brewed  by  him,  with 
Vera-Pinto,  the  Chilian  whom  you  noticed  in  the  street 
this  afternoon,  and  saw  again  at  Casti's  this  evening." 

And  Gina  told  Laurent  that,  since  his  arrival  in  Ant- 
werp, the  foreigner  had  pursued  her  with  his  atten- 
tions. She  had  dismissed  him  many  times,  but  he  al- 
ways came  back  to  the  onset,  encouraged,  unbelievable 
as  it  seemed,  by  Bejard,  with  whom  he  had  taken  Du- 
poissy's  place.  He  had,  for  sure,  a  lower  and  a  blacker 
mind  than  the  Sedanese,  and  Gina  did  not  augur  any 
good  from  the  fact  that  the  two  partners  went  about 
together  under  the  pretext  of  business. 

Bejard  hoped  to  regain  his  liberty  to  marry  another 
heiress.  After  having  ruined  her,  Gina  was  but  an 
obstacle  to  his  fortunes.  Not  daring  to  rid  himself  of 
his  second  wife  as  he  had  been  able  to  rid  himself  of 
his  first,  across  the  sea,  he  was  trying  to  persuade  Gina 
to  consent  to  a  divorce.  The  interest  of  her  child,  and 
respect  for  her  own  reputation  had  prevented  Gina 
from  listening  to  his  advances,  otherwise  she  would 
have  been  the  first  to  break  their  abominable  union.  In 
the  face  of  her  refusal,  Bejard  had  had  recourse  to 
threats,  and  then,  since  his  wife  continued  unsub- 
missive to  his  will,  he  had  beaten  her  without  pity. 


342  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

However,  one  day  when  he  again  raised  his  hand  to 
her,  Gina  had  armed  herself  with  a  knife  and  threat- 
ened to  plunge  it  into  his  breast.  As  cowardly  as  he 
was  vicious,  he  took  her  at  her  word.  But,  in  order 
to  break  down  his  wife's  resistance,  he  took  other 
abominable  means.  He  tried  to  throw  her  into  the 
arms  of  the  Chilian.  She  avoided  these  pitfalls,  and 
the  charlatan  was  out  of  pocket  for  his  gallantry.  Fi- 
nally, in  despair  of  getting  a  case,  not  having  succeeded 
in  inducing  his  wife  to  adultery,  Bejard  had  resolved 
upon  having  her  condemned  and  stigmatized  as  though 
she  had  been  guilty.  With  the  connivance  of  Vera- 
Pinto  he  had  not  hesitated,  in  order  to  attack  her,  to 
ruin  the  two  little  Saint-Fardiers. 

And  thus,  mused  Gina,  she  was  the  warp  and  woof 
of  the  plot : 

"After  having  warned  Bejard  of  the  party  arranged 
for  the  evening,  the  Chilian  went  to  it  with  one  or  the 
other  of  his  conquests. 

"They  are  not  lacking,  I  give  you  my  word,"  she 
continued,  "even  in  what  is  called  good  society,  for 
my  equals  do  not  all  share  my  aversion  for  that  sus- 
picious half-breed.  It  makes  no  difference  who  they 
are.  Luckier  than  Angele  and  Cora,  the  third  lady 
mixed  up  in  the  escapade  found  a  way,  at  least,  of 
fleeing  in  time.  She  does  not  suspect  that  she  owes 
her  good  fortune  to  the  hatred  which  Bejard,  in  his 
damned  soul,  bears  me.  It  was  necessary  for  them  to 
have  her  out  of  the  way  before  the  arrival  of  the  police 
in  order  to  implicate  me  in  the  affair.  Was  I  not  seen, 
this  very  afternoon,  with  my  unfortunate  friends? 
And  were  not  von  Frans,  Ditmayr  and  Vera-Pinto 
planted  beneath  our  balcony  the  whole  time?  The 
scene  at  Casti's  represents  the  epilogue  of  an  intrigue 


THE  CARNIVAL  343 

begun  at  the  Hotel  Saint- Antoine,  and  tomorrow  there 
will  not  be  one  person  in  the  whole  of  Antwerp,  with 
the  exception  of  my  father  and  yourself,  who  is  not 
persuaded  of  my  relations  with  that  Chilian!  Ah! 
Laurent!  To  think  that  Bergmans  himself  will  be- 
lieve my  traducers!  And  it  is  from  my  memory  of 
him  that  I  have  drawn  the  strength  to  remain  vir- 
tuous ! 

"It  was  he  whom  I  loved ;  it  was  he  whom  I  should 
have  married!  I  discouraged  him  by  my  vanity,  and 
when  he  had  gone  away,  my  conceit  still  got  the  better 
of  my  love,  and  I  consented  to  the  most  disastrous  of 
marriages.  To  irritate  the  one  whom  I  loved,  I  made 
myself  eternally  unhappy !" 

In  vain  had  Paridael  tried  to  wear  out  his  passion, 
to  make  it  more  and  more  absurd  by  multiplying,  with 
deliberate  intention,  the  obstacles  and  barriers  that  sep- 
arated him  from  his  cousin ;  in  vain  had  he  descended 
so  low  that  he  could  never  raise  himself  up  to  her 
again. 

He  thought  himself  cured,  but  he  had  only  brought 
his  trouble  to  the  boiling  point  once  more.  We  know 
how,  a  few  hours  before,  his  animosity  had  been 
aroused  against  her. 

The  accidents,  the  intimacies,  the  promiscuities  of 
his  vagabond  life,  his  commerce  with  the  rebellious 
and  the  refractory  fellows  who  were  not  ashamed  of 
their  nature,  who  were  initiated  in  every  form  of  turpi- 
tude, had  stripped  him,  also,  of  all  prejudice,  had 
made  him  more  daring  and  more  expeditious. 

While  she  was  denouncing  Bejard's  brutalities  to 
him,  Paridael  was  strangely  torn;  one  part  of  his  be- 
ing sympathized,  from  the  depths  of  his  soul,  with  so 
great  a  misfortune,  and  was  revolted  by  so  monstrous 


344  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

a  villainy,  and  the  other  part  burned  to  leap  upon  the 
weeping  woman,  to  beat  her  in  his  turn,  to  treat  her 
with  more  barbarity  than  he  had,  just  a  little  while 
before,  at  the  carnival.  Never  had  the  extremes  of 
his  nature  so  contradicted  each  other.  His  feelings 
clashed  with  each  other  like  contrary  winds  in  a  tem- 
pest. 

The  nudity  of  the  two  blonde  adulteresses,  surprised 
at  Casti's  restaurant,  still  trembled  before  his  eyes  and 
inflamed  his  blood. 

"Why  do  you  not  quickly  strip  this  quivering 
woman?  Would  you  be  less  brave  than  the  httle  vio- 
lator of  Pouderlee?"  suggested  the  material  side  of 
his  nature.  "I  shall  find  enough  nobility  of  soul  to 
love  her  better  than  Bergmans  himself!"  the  other 
phase  of  his  nature  promised  him.  And  he  cherished 
no  less  generous  and  extravagant  an  idea  than  that  of 
sacrificing  himself  in  order  to  assure  her  of  happiness 
by  ridding  both  her  and  Antwerp  of  the  damnable  de- 
spoiler. 

It  was  under  the  influence  of  this  quixotic  thought 
that  he  said  to  Gina,  after  a  long  silence  during  which 
he  held  her  hands  in  his : 

"You  still  love  Bergmans,  then  ?" 

The  accent  of  his  voice  betrayed  so  much  sadness 
and  affection  that  Gina  looked  at  him.  But  she  was 
amazed  to  find  in  his  eyes  the  strange,  wrecked  expres- 
sion she  had  already  seen,  one  eventful  day,  in  the 
orangery,  and  as  he  gripped  her  hands  more  tightly: 

"Laurent !"  she  cried,  trying  to  push  him  away,  and 
not  answering  his  question. 

He,  however,  continued  in  his  weak  and  breaking 
voice : 

"Fear  nothing  from  me,  Gina.    Think  anything  you 


THE  CARNIVAL  345 

want  about  me,  overwhelm  me  with  contempt,  but 
know  that  there  is  nothing  I  would  not  do  for  your 
happiness !" 

It  was  the  sincere  expression  of  his  feelings,  but 
wherefore,  while  offering  Gina  this  respectful  devo- 
tion, did  the  rough  pressure  of  his  fingers,  and  the  wild 
light  of  his  eyes  give  the  lie  to  his  speech? 

"If  Bejard  were  to  disappear,  it  would  be  Berg- 
mans that  you  would  marry?" 

His  voice  seemed  to  come  from  the  other  world, 
like  that  of  one  who  dreams  out  loud. 

"Do  you  want  me  to  kill  him,  that  husband  of  yours  ? 
You  have  only  to  speak  the  word !  Come,  answer  me ! 
Answer  me,  I  say !" 

His  murderous  look  did  not  threaten  only  the  per- 
son who  had  defined  it  with  such  intensity  and  con- 
centrated fire.  Gina  had  just  read  in  it  something 
other  than  murderous  fury,  a  more  direct  plea,  an 
imminent  danger.  .  .  . 

"Before  I  assure  your  happiness  and  that  of  Berg- 
mans forever,  be  good  to  me  just  for  one  instant, 
Gina  .  .  .  the  instant  that  it  takes  to  give  a  sister's 
kiss.  Then  I  shall  leave  to  accomplish  my  mission. 
And  you  shall  never  see  me  again.  .  .  .  Quick!  the 
farewell  kiss,  my  Regina.  .  .  ." 

His  voice  changed,  became  hoarse  and  threatening; 
his  plea  sounded  false;  he  dragged  her  by  force 
to  him,  twisting  her  wrists  as  he  did  it. 

"Laurent!    Stop!    YouVe  hurting  me!  .  ,  ." 

Instead  of  obeying  her,  he  stroked  the  flesh  of  her 
arm ;  he  even  put  his  hands  to  her  corsage,  and,  at  the 
thrill  of  her  bosom,  beneath  the  thin  material  of  her 
tea-gown,  he  pressed  his  lips  greedily  to  hers.  Al- 
most thrown  back,  and  on  the  point  of  belonging  to 


346  THE  NEW.  CARTHAGE 

him,  she  succeeded  in  releasing  herself,  and  bounded 
to  the  other  side  of  the  table : 

"All  my  compliments,  master  cheat!  And  to  think 
that  I  was  accusing  Vera-Pinto!  It  is  you  who  are 
the  tool  of  Bejard!  I  follow  it,  now.  After  having 
paid  you  for  maltreating  me  this  afternoon,  he  counted 
upon  surprising  me  with  you,  you  hideous  clown! 
Your  ugliness  and  your  beastliness  would  have  made 
the  enormity  of  my  fault  even  greater !" 

Whipped  by  this  violent  attack,  as  blinded  as  though 
she  had  dashed  a  bottle  of  vitriol  in  his  face,  Laurent 
did  not  even  try  to  justify  himself.  Appearances  over- 
whelmed him ;  the  best  thing  he  could  do  would  be  to 
take  himself  off  at  once.  The  arrival  of  Bejard  might 
convert  her  slanderous  hypothesis  into  a  reality  at  any 
moment. 

Laurent  took  to  flight,  not  without  stumbling  many 
times,  ready  to  fall. 

Gina !  His  dearly  beloved  Gina !  To  think  him  ca- 
pable of  such  deceit !  Never  could  Laurent  rise  beyond 
it  again.  He  would  be  right  forever  more  to  wallow  in 
all  mire  to  add  ignominies  to  ignominies:  his  worst 
actions  would  seem  good  beside  the  one  of  which  she 
had  impeached  him,  and  the  severest  penalties,  the 
most  infernal  expiation  that  a  list  of  unimaginable 
iniquities  would  yield  him  would  seem  gentle  and  clem- 
ent to  him  when  compared  with  the  rigor  and  the 
cruelty  of  her  accusation. 

Gina  herself  could  never  retrieve  her  error  nor  re- 
pare  her  injustice.  It  was  indelible.  Any  rehabilita- 
tion or  forgiveness  would  come  too  late. 


VII 
THE  CARTRIDGE  PLANT 

That  day  in  May  the  fogs  of  an  exceptionally  stub- 
bom  winter  had  scattered,  to  leave  floating  in  the  air 
only  a  diaphanous  evaporation  through  which  the 
azure  tendered  the  interesting  pallor  of  convalescence, 
and  which  became  irridescent,  in  the  radiant  sunlight, 
like  a  mist  of  fine  pearls. 

After  a  long  illness  contracted  on  the  morrow  of 
his  stormy  Mardi  Gras,  Laurent,  as  convalescent  as  the 
season,  left,  for  the  first  time,  the  hospital  where  the 
practitioners  had  saved  him  in  spite  of  himself  and  less, 
without  doubt,  for  interest  in  him  than  in  order  to 
triumph  over  one  of  the  most  stubborn  and  most  com- 
plex cases  of  typhoid  that  had  ever  been  met  with  in 
the  establishment. 

Put  back  upon  his  feet,  returned  to  the  life  of  the 
outside  world,  he  seemed  to  have  come  back  from  a 
long  and  perilous  voyage,  as  if  pardoned  from  an  exile 
that  had  lasted  for  years.  And  so  never  before,  even 
on  the  day  of  his  return  to  Antwerp,  had  the  metrop- 
olis appeared  to  him  with  this  aspect  of  power,  splen- 
dor and  serenity. 

At  the  harbor,  the  activity  was  feeling  the  effects  of 
the  spring-like  temperature.  The  recent  famine  caused 
by  the  blocking  of  the  Scheldt  had  not  persisted  after 

347 


348  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

the  break-up  of  the  ice.  The  roadstead  and  the  docks 
were  swallowing  up  more  ships  than  ever  and  a  mighty 
recrudescence  was  succeeding  the  long  lull  in  traffic. 

The  workingmen  were  laboring  without  suffering, 
happy  to  spend  their  strength,  considering  the  drudg- 
ery, often  so  painful,  as  an  exercise  giving  elasticity 
to  their  long  relaxed  muscles. 

Even  the  emigrants,  stationed  at  the  doors  of  the 
consulates,  seemed  to  Paridael  less  pitiful  and  more 
resigned  than  usual. 

Passing  the  Coin  des  Paresseux,  he  noticed  that  all 
its  habitues  were  absent. 

Their  king,  a  perpetual  loafer,  who  never  worked 
even  when  the  most  downright  lazy  among  them  al- 
lowed themselves  to  be  hired  out,  had  exceptionally 
recanted  his  laziness.  This  humiliated  Laurent  not  a 
little.  He  remained  the  only  drone  in  the  busy  hive. 
He  was  impatient  to  regenerate  himself  in  work. 

To  this  end  he  stopped  several  brigades  of  dockers 
and  asked  for  any  employment  from  their  haes,  but 
the  latter,  after  carefully  looking  him  over,  seemed 
not  at  all  anxious  to  saddle  himself  with  as  ridiculous 
a  laborer  as  the  fellow  before  him,  wasted  with  two 
months  of  fever,  asked  him  to  come  back  the  next  day, 
alleging  that  the  day  was  already  too  far  gone. 

Drawing  trucks,  there  passed  with  a  slow  and  ma- 
jestic gait  the  great  horses  of  the  Nations.  On  their 
large  collars  gilded  nails  set  forth  the  name  or  the 
monogram  of  the  corporation  to  which  they  belonged. 
The  drivers  of  these  drays  employed  for  reins  only 
a  hempen  rope  drawn  through  one  of  the  rings  of  the 
collar.  Whether  they  stood  up  on  their  empty  wagons, 
like  antique  coachmen,  or  whether  they  walked  placidly 
and  apparently  unconcerned,  by  the  side  of  their  loaded 


THE  CARTRIDGE  PLANT  349 

drays,  their  dexterity,  their  watchfulness  and  the  in- 
telligence of  their  horses  were  such  that  the  trucks 
passed  each  other  and  rubbed  against  each  other  with- 
out ever  becoming  tangled. 

Laurent  could  not  help  admiring  the  strong  horses 
and  their  magnificent  drivers;  he  even  stopped  still  in 
the  middle  of  the  road  and  would  have  been  run  over 
had  not  an  imperative  crack  of  the  whip  or  a  guttural 
onomatapoeia  not  warned  him  to  watch  out.  t 

Drunken  with  the  springtide,  he  splashed  about  with 
delight  in  the  thick  mud,  the  black  and  permanent  sweat 
of  a  pavement  constantly  trampled  down  by  the  heavy 
rolling  of  traffic ;  he  trespassed  upon  the  railroad 
tracks;  mooring-ropes  caused  him  to  stumble,  bales 
thrown  in  flight  from  hand  to  hand  like  simple  jug- 
gler's balls  by  Herculean  jugglers,  threatened  to  upset 
him,  and  the  gang  whose  rhythmic,  cadenced  work  he 
interfered  with  rated  him  in  a  patois  as  enormous  and 
crusty  as  their  bodies. 

Nothing  could  alter,  today,  Laurent's  good  humor; 
he  took  pleasure  in  being  hardly  used  by  the  world  he 
preferred,  enjoyed  the  extreme  familiarity  with  which 
he  was  treated  by  these  dockers,  as  robust  as  they  were 
placid. 

He  lounged  about  the  great  Kattendyck  basin.  His 
heart  beat  more  rapidly  at  the  sight  of  comrades  from 
the  America,  the  Nation  of  which  he  himself  had  been 
a  part,  unloading  grain.  The  sacks  snatched  by  the 
hooks  of  the  crane  at  the  bottom  of  the  hold  were 
hoisted  to  the  height  of  the  masts  and  funnel,  then  the 
mighty  lever,  describing  an  horizontal  quarter-circle, 
carried  its  load  to  a  truck  waiting  on  the  quay. 

Standing  on  the  truck,  bare-headed  and  bare-armed, 
a  tall  fellow,  his  loins  girded  like  a  wrestler,  with  a 


350  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

sort  of  pruning-hook  in  his  hand,  grappled  the  bags 
as  they  hung  above  his  head,  loosened  them  from  their 
slings,  and,  by  the  same  stroke,  gave  its  liberty  of 
movement  back  to  the  machine,  which  turned  to  con- 
tinue its  looting. 

Other  comrades,  wearing  hoods,  came  up  in  a  single 
file  to  load  upon  another  truck  the  load  which  the  bare- 
headed man  caught  up  and  fastened  upon  their  backs. 
All  around  sweepers  were  gathering  in  scoops  the  grain 
which  was  spilled,  at  every  trip  of  the  machine,  from 
the  fissures  in  the  grappled  and  torn  bags. 

As  he  came  nearer,  Laurent  recognized  in  the  prin- 
cipal actor  of  the  scene,  in  which  he  alone,  perhaps, 
among  his  contemporaries,  experienced  the  sovereign 
beauty  that  would  have  intrigued  Michael  Angelo  and 
sent  Benvenuto  Cellini  into  transports  of  lyricism,  the 
docker  whom  he  had  aided  in  the  garret,  and  thought 
himself  recompensed  for  any  terrestrial  or  divine  per- 
spective by  the  emotion  which  he  felt  at  the  sight  of 
this  noble  creature  restored  to  life  and  beauty.  For  an 
instant,  Laurent  thought  of  hailing  him,  but  did  not; 
the  good  chap  might  think,  seeing  his  benefactor  so 
shabby  and  worn  looking,  that  a  brutal  appeal  was 
being  made  to  his  gratitude.  Paridael  even  hastened 
to  keep  on  his  way,  fearful  of  being  recognized,  con- 
gratulating himself  for  having  had  this  scruple,  but 
sending  a  warm  wave  of  emotion  toward  his  debtor. 

He  passed  through  the  drydocks,  crossed  many 
bridges  and  gang-planks,  and  came  to  the  warehouses 
for  inflammable  matter,  the  storehouses  of  naphtha 
immerged  in  marshy  hollows,  the  petroleum  tanks, 
great  vats  like  gasometers,  all  objects  whose  character- 
istic appearance  contributed  to  the  demarcation  of  this 
commercial  landscape. 


THE  CARTRIDGE  PLANT  351 

Here  stopped,  after  its  last  wanderings,  the  monopo- 
lizing and  voracious  industry  of  the  metropolis. 

Therefore  he  was  not  a  little  surprised  to  find,  be- 
yond the  petroleum  reservoirs,  towards  the  village  of 
Austruweel — a  pitiful  bit  of  a  village  separated  by 
strategic  necessity  from  its  parish  and  added  to  the 
urban  region — an  agglomeration  of  flimsy  and  provi- 
sional buildings,  whose  appearance  was  so  troubled,  so 
forbidding,  so  infernal,  that  Laurent  was  not  far 
wrong  in  attributing  a  diabolic  origin  to  claim  his 
property,  or  as  if  he  exercised  an  unavowable  profes- 
sion. The  hovels  must  have  shot  up  there  like  mush- 
rooms growing  in  a  single  night  in  a  damp  spot,  pro- 
pitious also  to  the  hatching  of  toads. 

As  a  whole,  it  looked  like  a  lazaretto,  a  dispensary, 
a  horse-pound,  a  warehouse  for  contraband  goods,  or 
a  clandestine  still  relegated  to  a  district  outside  the 
zone  of  normal  industries. 

Disagreeably  surprised,  Laurent  Paridael  stopped  in 
spite  of  himself  before  these  interloping  buildings,  con- 
sisting of  five  bodies  of  buildings  without  floors,  built 
of  wreckage,  loam,  coarse  plaster,  of  agglutinated  ma- 
terials, like  a  temporary  thing  of  which  only  an  ephe- 
meral consistency  was  demanded. 

Surrounded  by  a  dilapidated  wall  of  rotted  hand- 
rails, it  threw  a  discordant  note  into  the  grandiose  and 
loyal  harmony,  into  the  impression  of  honest  founda- 
tions produced  upon  him  today  by  the  panorama  of 
Antwerp.  These  hovels,  lacking  any  apparent  purpose, 
intrigued  Paridael  more  than  he  would  have  wished. 

He  was  distracted  from  his  examination  by  a  dozen 
apprentices,  boys  and  girls,  who,  hurrying  along  and 
chatting  joyously,  were  going  into  precisely  those  sus- 
picious sheds. 


352  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

He  stopped  them  with  the  nervousness  of  a  rescuer 
who  jumps  into  the  water  or  throws  himself  at  the 
bridle  of  a  runaway  horse,  and  asked  them  what  the 
installations  were. 

"Those?  But  that's  the  Bejard  Cartridge  Plant/' 
they  answered  him,  looking  at  him  as  if  he  had  fallen 
from  the  moon. 

At  this  answer  he  must  have  had  an  even  more  be- 
wildered look.  How  was  it  that  he  had  not  foreseen 
this  correlation?  An  establishment  with  such  a  re- 
pulsive expression  and  such  a  malignant  exterior  could 
serve  only  Bejard. 

Laurent  Paridael  remembered  that  someone  had  told 
him  of  this  last  operation  of  the  former  slaver.  With- 
out becoming  reconciled  to  Bergmans,  he  had  ap- 
plauded the  vehement  campaign  which  the  tribune  had 
conducted  against  the  threatening  works  of  the  dealer 
in  human  flesh,  and  if  he  had  not  been  more  actively 
concerned  in  this  opposition,  it  was  only  because  he 
thought  the  Council  incapable  of  tolerating  such  ma- 
nipulations in  the  interior  of  the  city.  And  now  Pari- 
dael was  finding  that  his  anticipations  had  been  given 
the  lie,  and  that  the  public  safety  had  been  imperilled 
despite  Bergmans'  phillipics,  adjurations,  and  cries  of 
alarm. 

Bejard,  the  evil  alchemist,  had  succeeded  in  estab- 
lishing his  laboratory  where  it  best  suited  him. 

It  was  in  these  dangerous  workshops,  almost  open 
to  all  the  winds,  built  rather  to  attract  bats  than  to 
shelter  human  beings,  that  his  dreadful  operations  were 
taking  place ! 

It  was  in  close  proximity  to  the  most  combustible 
materials  that  the  presence  of  the  most  withering  pro- 
ducers of  fire  was  tolerated ! 


THE  CARTRIDGE  PLANT  353 

It  was  to  children,  fatally  rattle-brained  and  flighty 
babies,  belonging  essentially  to  the  most  turbulent  and 
the  most  reckless  class  of  the  Antwerp  proletariat,  that 
they  turned  over  work  for  which  sufficiently  careful 
and  steady  manipulators  could  not  be  found ! 

And  so  that  nothing  would  be  lacking  to  the  stakes, 
so  that  the  challenge  would  cry  the  louder  to  God  or 
rather,  to  Hell,  these  little  hands,  unskilled  and  clumsy, 
were  provided  with  cumbersome  and  rudimentary 
tools. 

Finally,  as  a  supreme  provocation,  a  steam  engine 
and  its  fire-box  were  accommodated  next  to  the  gun- 
powder-maker; quite  literally,  the  powder  was  being 
treated  in  the  fire ! 

Considering  only  the  little  difficulty  required  by  the 
work  itself,  "regular  child's  play,"  as  the  greedy  capi- 
talist said  with  a  chuckle,  he  had  carried  off  two  hun- 
dred of  the  very  young  blackguards  swarming  in  the 
Quartier  des  Bateliers  and  the  Quartier  de  la  Minque, 
offspring  of  drunkards,  women  peddlers,  pilots,  smug- 
glers and  runners,  hopeless  vagrants  to  whom  he  paid 
a  few  cents  a  day,  Bejard  worried  as  little  about  the 
safety  of  the  poor  children  as  he  had  about  that  of 
the  emigrants.  Laurent  even  imagined  that  he  recog- 
nized, among  the  moss-grown  and  tarry  boards,  the 
wreckage  oi  The  Gina,  and,  going  even  further  back,  he 
thought  of  the  boats  whose  construction  was  helped, 
in  the  time  of  Bejard,  senior,  by  the  children  tor- 
tured to  amuse  Bejard,  junior. 

The  eldest  of  the  boys,  to  whom  Laurent  had  just 
spoken,  was  but  sixteen  years  old,  and  Laurent  learned 
from  him  that  the  majority  of  his  companions  had 
not  yet  reached  that  age. 

In  questioning  them,  Paridael  took  a  hitherto  un* 


354  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

felt  interest  in  their  welfare,  felt  there  and  then  an 
imperious  and  almost  piercing  solicitude,  the  most  in- 
tense, the  most  jealous  that  any  human  being  had  ever 
aroused  in  his  veins,  taxed  his  ingenuity  to  prolong  the 
conversation  in  order  to  hold  them  back,  there,  near 
him,  and  delay  their  entrance  into  the  factory  from 
minute  to  minute. 

He  racked  his  brain  in  order  to  divert  them  from 
their  work,  to  disband  this  deleterious  workshop.  He 
had  never  before  nourished  such  a  desire  to  dispute  a 
factory  its  workingmen;  to  debauch,  to  liberate,  to 
emancipate  the  apprentices  yoked  to  a  homicidal  trade. 
All  his  former  loves  revived  and  condensed  into  that 
supreme  attachment. 

"In  that  building  there,  in  front  of  your  nose,  is  the 
workroom  where  the  boys  empty  the  cartridges.  Back 
of  the  shed,  the  customshouse.  In  the  middle,  that 
species  of  fort  surrounded  by  bare  earth  is  the  powder- 
house,  where  we  case  the  powder  coming  from  the 
broken  cartridges.  On  the  other  side  of  the  powder- 
house,  the  girls'  workroom.  It's  there  that  my  girl 
works,  the  red-haired  one  who  is  hiding  behind  the 
other  one.  Like  they  used  to  do  at  school,  they  sepa- 
rate the  breeches  from  the  skirts.  I  don't  say  that  they 
are  altogether  wrong  ...  the  more  because  we  make 
amends  for  it  when  we  come  out,  don't  we.  Car- 
rot? Finally,  that  shed  there  contains  the  oven  in 
which  we  melt  in  separate  ingots  the  copper  and  the 
lead. 

"The  same  shed  contains  the  steam  engine  which 
crushes  the  empty  and  burned  shells.  I  work  at  the 
oven.  It  is  I,  Frans  Verwinkel,  who  explode  the  ful- 
minate of  the  percussion-caps  after  having  emptied 
the  shells.     It  is  very  amusing,  and  no  more  difficult 


THE  CARTRIDGE  PLANT  355 

than  thumping  him,  here!  Vlan!  I  do  it  like  tliat! 
And  the  thing  is  finished !  Don't  get  angry,  Pitiet,  it's 
only  to  explain  the  trick  to  Monsieur !" 

In  proportion  as  the  eldest  gave  him,  without  any 
recrimination,  even  in  a  bragging  tone  strongly  im- 
pregnated with  racy  local  slang,  these  details  and  oth- 
ers of  the  place,  the  materials  and  the  workers,  Lau- 
rent's affinities  for  this  crew  of  sturdy  fellows  and 
buxom  girls  increased  to  its  paroxysm  of  commisera- 
tion. 

They  had  well-modelled  flesh,  their  faces  were 
healthy,  although  they  had  lost  something  of  their  vel- 
vety quality,  their  expressions  were  sprightly,  their 
movements  quick,  their  eyes  flashing,  their  lips  mobile, 
they  had  the  tan  complexion,  the  red  cheeks,  the  dark 
coloring  of  the  harbor  folk,  the  type  whom  Laurent 
prized  so  highly  that  it  made  him  sympathetic  to  even 
the  runners  and  other  land-sharks. 

As  he  looked  at  them,  how  did  it  come  to  pass  that 
he  suddenly  reflected  that  the  first  victims  of  Bejard 
and  his  shipyards,  the  little  crucified  children  of  the 
Fulton  shipyards,  must  have  been  of  their  age,  must 
have  had  their  grace,  their  beauty,  their  bluster? 
Truly,  they  must  have  been  congeners  of  those  proud 
youths  whom,  as  the  newspapers  of  the  time  said,  had 
been  tortured  and  made  martyrs  of  without  drawing 
information  from  them. 

"And  don't  you  do  yourselves  any  harm?  Does  no 
one  do  you  any  harm  in  there  ?  Are  you  sure  ?  That 
man,  Bejard;  doesn't  he  take  pleasure  in  drawing 
blood  from  you?  Are  you  not  lending  yourselves  to 
his  amusements ;  doesn't  he  burn  you  and  mangle  you, 
the  tyrant?  Don't  deny  it!  I  know  him!  Be  care- 
ful! .  .  ." 


356  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

They  looked  at  each  other  and  burst  out  laughing, 
not  understanding  anything  of  this  reveller*s  divaga- 
tions. 

The  presentiment  of  a  hidden  danger  that  menaced 
them  worried  Paridael  cruelly,  sorrowed,  to  employ 
the  word  of  the  sublime  Saviour,  his  soul  unto  death. 
A  train  of  torments  and  torture  was  lying  in  wait  for 
this  adolescent  flesh.  He  would  have  liked  to  ransom 
these  poor  children  at  the  price  of  his  own  blood,  from 
he  did  not  know  what  vivisectors. 

One  moment  he  thought  that  he  had  found  a  means 
to  ward  off  their  destiny. 

After  having  mentally  calculated  how  much  he  still 
possessed,  he  proposed  point  blank  to  the  whole  troop 
to  take  them  to  the  country,  beyond  Austruweel,  where 
he  would  have  regaled  them  with  rice,  with  "Corinth 
bread,"  and  with  sugared  coffee,  just  as  Jesus  treats 
his  elect  in  Paradise. 

But,  while  he  was  searching  his  pockets  for  his  last 
money,  he  examined  himself  for  bandages,  lint  and 
salve.  His  clothes  had  been  fumigated  at  the  hospi- 
tal, but  an  abominable  odor  of  phenol,  laudanum  and 
cauterized  flesh  outraged  his  nostrils. 

Dressed  in  one  of  those  picaresque  rigs  to  the  com- 
position of  which  he  brought  a  true  dandyism,  his 
cheeks  sunken,  his  face  ravaged  by  his  illness  and  made 
more  haggard  and  more  distorted  by  his  present  worry, 
his  ridiculous  and  incoherent  vaporing  coinciding  with 
the  unfavorable  impression  of  his  looks,  Laurent  Pari- 
dael was  so  little  the  person  from  whom  one  could  ex- 
pect liberality  that,  when  they  heard  him  propose  such 
a  wonderful  treat  in  the  country,  the  gamins  believed 
themselves  to  be  absolutely  in  the  presence  of  an  in- 
sane man,  an  opium  smoker,  or  a  drunkard  incapable 


THE  CARTRIDGE  PLANT  357 

of  doing  what  he  offered,  and  endeavored  to  stun  him 
with  their  ridiculous  answers. 

"Say,  Jan  Slim,  have  you  finished  humbugging  your 
set?  Tell  us  your  tailor's  address?  Hey,  rare  bird, 
since  you  are  in  the  mood  to  preach,  why  not  recite  the 
ten  commandments  for  us  ?  Surely,  we'll  go  with  you, 
little  father,  and  right  off,  but  can  you  take  us  to  the 
Hotel  Saint-Antoine  or  to  Casti's  for  dinner?  We 
don't  want  to  hurt  your  feelings,  but  we  think  youVe 
broken  out  from  the  Rue  des  Beguines  or  that  you  are 
a  pilgrim  to  Merxplas !  Is  it  with  stolen  money  that 
you  are  going  to  cram  our  bellies  ?'* 

Far  from  taking  offence  at  these  jokes,  Laurent  pro- 
foundly regretted  that  he  could  no  longer  find  a  single 
hundred  franc  note  to  distribute  among  them,  and  pay 
their  ransom  to  fate.  He  was  himself  at  the  end  of 
his  resources,  and  should  he  not  be  able  to  hire  out  his 
enfeebled  arms  on  the  morrow,  he  would  in  point  of 
fact  have  to  begin  a  pilgrimage  to  Merxplas,  to  the 
hospitable  prison  for  tramps  and  vagrants,  where  he 
would  meet  Karl  the  Blacksmith  and  so  many  other 
worthy  pariahs. 

Warned  of  an  ever  more  imminent  trouble,  Laurent 
persisted  in  trying  to  take  the  young  folks  far  from 
this  neighborhood;  he  begged  them  almost  with  his 
tears  to  hire  themselves  out  elsewhere  as  hodmen, 
navvies,  coffee-sorters,  herring-peddlers,  or  at  least 
to  take  a  holiday  today,  only  one  afternoon,  to 
play  the  truant  from  the  factory  for  the  rest  of  the 
day. 

But  thinking  that  this  mystification  was  becoming 
a  bore,  their  chief  scamp  with  large  eyes  the  color 
of  a  ripe  chestnut,  with  a  teasing  expression,  with  a 
willful,  dimpled  chin,  a  difficult  rogue  to  handle,  the 


358  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

same  Frans  Verwinkel  who  said  his  job  was  to  explode 
the  fulminate,  lifted  his  cap  respectfully  to  Paridael, 
and,  bowing  his  black,  curly  head,  harangued  him  in 
these  terms : 

"It  isn't,  old  brother,  that  your  company  is  particu- 
larly disagreeable  to  us,  or  that  your  conversation  lacks 
relish,  but  if  you  will  believe  me,  you  will  be  first  in  the 
field  and  wait  for  us  at  Wilmarsdonck.  .  .  .  It*s  over 
an  hour  ago  that  the  clock  struck,  and,  without  alto- 
gether being  the  bugbear  that  you  say  he  is,  Bejard 
would  not  hesitate  to  fine  us,  or  put  us  all  out,  sure  as 
he  is  of  always  being  able  to  catch  enough  artists  of 
our  genius  to  keep  his  shop  going. 

"And  so,  in  this  case,  it  is  not  you,  our  uncle,  who 
butters  our  bread,  or  lodges  us  in  the  henhouse,  or 
offers  himself  up  to  take  a  whipping  as  paternal  as  it 
is  burning,  we  bid  you  good  day,  friend.  Good  luck, 
and  a  good  wind  behind  you !" 

Laurent  tried  to  bar  his  passage,  to  hold  him  by  the 
arm,  to  grip  him  by  the  hands : 

"Come,  hop,  friend !  Down  with  your  paws  I  Get 
out,  do  you  understand !" 

The  frisky  apprentice  released  himself,  and  Laurent 
vainly  clung  desperately  to  blouses  and  skirts ;  they  all 
passed  him,  following  their  leader,  not  without  molest- 
ing him  a  little.  And  with  hisses  and  catcalls,  with  any 
amount  of  derisive  gestures,  they  were  all  swallowed 
up  by  the  cartridge  plant,  more  brazen  and  more  blus- 
tering than  a  flock  of  crows  scorning  a  scarecrow. 

Paridael  stood  there  for  a  long  time  after  the  door 
had  shut  upon  the  last  of  the  laggards.  The  sonorous 
laugh,  their  vibrant  voice  still  rang  in  his  ears ;  he  saw 
the  great  chestnut  eyes  of  the  eldest  sparkle  and  glisten 
once  more,  recalled  the  relish  of  his  gesture  when  he 


XHE  CARTRIDGE  PLANT  359 

had  raised  his  cap  to  heaven  like  a  quarrelsome  tit- 
mouse bristling  its  tuft. 

Paridael's  heart  bled  more  and  more  sorrowfully 
in  his  bosom.  And  that  because  of  some  young  scoun- 
drels who  were  absolute  strangers  to  him. 

"There  are  hundreds,  even  thousands  of  these  louts, 
all  cast  in  the  same  mold,  between  Merxem  and  Kiel !" 
the  judicious  and  moderate  Marbol  had  told  told  him. 

Did  not  they  themselves  realize  that  Bejard  would 
not  have  found  it  difficult  to  raise  more  than  one  re- 
serve of  conscripts  of  the  same  kidney ! 

The  prolific  city  threw  them  upon  the  streets,  neg- 
lectfully, exposing  them  to  accidents,  abandoning  them 
to  their  own  industry,  to  their  good  or  evil  instincts, 
destining  nearly  all  of  them  to  helotism,  squandering 
them  upon  the  racy  atmosphere  of  the  streets  and  the 
waterfront. 

If  they  did  not  serve  for  food  for  the  fishes,  they 
would,  one  day,  be  stretched  out  upon  the  slabs  in  the 
morgue,  or  contribute  to  the  instruction  of  medical 
students.  Did  they  possess  the  supreme  and  unique 
character  with  which  Laurent  endowed  them?  In- 
contestably.  Were  he  the  only  one  to  see  them  in  this 
warm  light  and  in  so  bold  a  relief,  it  would  be  because 
they  were  created  and  existed  so. 

On  the  point  of  joining  the  apprentices  in  their 
workshop  in  order  to  suspend  the  malignant  labor  wifh 
which  they  were  charged,  and  disputing  them  with 
Bejard  himself,  the  same  odor  as  before,  but  stronger, 
the  stifling  heat  of  a  slaughter-house,  blended  with  the 
mustiness  of  an  infirmary  and  puffs  of  the  odor  of 
burning  pounced  upon  him.  As  though  he  had  been 
made  to  breathe  a  powerful  anesthetic,  he  became 
dizzy,  and  things  reeled  before  his  eyes. 


36o  THE  NEWi  CARTHAGE 

The  wall  surrounding  the  cartridge  plant  was  swept 
away,  the  masonry  crumbled  to  pieces,  the  walls  of  the 
buildings  cracked  and  parted  like  scenery,  or  as  if  a 
sudden  torrent  of  water  had  burst  forth,  and,  in  a 
green  Bengal  light  with  the  color  of  a  glaucous  and 
phosphorescent  sea,  unwonted  human  forms  whirled 
about  before  his  eyes,  more  rapid  and  more  fleeting 
than  a  luminous  bank  of  fishes,  or  than  the  thousand 
candles  quivering  before  the  pupil  of  an  apoplectic^s 
eye.  In  the  horrible  bustling  of  these  apparitions, 
Laurent  distinguished  trunks  without  members,  hands 
and  feet  amputated  from  bodies,  and  what  dismayed 
him  the  most  was  the  imploring  or  terrified  expression 
in  the  gleaming  eyes  of  those  bloodless  heads,  the  same 
youthful  roguish  eyes  that  he  had  seen  a  few  seconds 
before,  and  the  grin,  the  convulsion,  the  grimace  of 
horrible  suffering  upon  these  mouths,  the  same  mouths 
that  only  just  now  had  been  so  willful  and  so  banter- 
ing, and  the  frank,  courageous  beauty  of  these  children, 
now  twisted  in  he  knew  not  what  convulsion. 

Was  he  watching  a  shipwreck  or  a  fire?  He  saw 
again,  but  together,  the  martyrized  children  of  the  Ful- 
ton shipyards,  and  the  emigrants  who  had  gone  down 
on  The  Gina.  And  one  of  these  faces,  that  of  young 
Frans  Verwinkel,  extraordinarily  resembled  that  of 
his  dear  Pierket,  Henriette's  youngest  brother  and  her 
living  image,  but  a  stubborn  and  determined  version 
of  that  pensive  image. 

This  phantasmagoria  lasted  but  one  brief  second, 
after  which  the  green  light  died  down,  the  walls  closed 
up,  the  fence  rose  once  more,  and  the  hideous  factory 
took  on  its  sullen,  but  normal  aspect. 

"What  now !''  said  Paridael  to  himself.  "Am  I  go- 
ing mad  ?" 


THE  CARTRIDGE  PLANT  361 

And  blushing  at  this  morbid  seizure,  which  he  at- 
tributed to  an  hyperesthesia  caused  by  his  illness,  to 
the  heady  effect  of  the  air  after  a  long  claustration,  he 
finally  resolved  to  turn  his  back  upon  these  hallucinat- 
ing objects,  and  make  his  way  toward  the  river. 

Two  or  three  times,  however,  he  looked  back  at  the 
factory,  turned  in  his  path  for  a  moment  as  if  he  had 
forgotten  something,  or  as  though  some  dearly  be- 
loved person  had  called  him  back  to  repeat  their  fare- 
well. 

Gradually  the  spell  ceased  to  operate.  The  normal 
and  reassuring  appearance  of  the  other  buildings  in  the 
light  and  warmth  of  this  first  fine  day  soothed  him. 
Not  a  single  cloud  darkened  the  azured  opal  of  the 
sky.  Imperceptible  wavelets  skimming  the  surface  of 
the  sun-drenched  river  reminded  him  of  the  little  shiver 
of  comfort  rippling  the  flank  of  a  horse  that  is  being 
stroked  by  its  master. 

Laurent  could  no  longer  distinguish  the  rigging  or 
the  cordage  of  distant  ships,  so  that  their  white  sails, 
whiter  than  the  sheets  of  his  numbered  bed  in  the  hos- 
pital, or  the  covers  of  stretchers,  seemed  to  float  un- 
shackled in  space,  and  suggested  the  wings  of  angels 
sent  to  meet  the  souls  who  were  shortly  expected 
above ! 

When  he  reached  the  embankment,  the  same  place 
from  which  he  had  watched  the  disappearance  of  the 
ship  that  bore  away  the  Tilbaks,  Paridael  lovingly  and 
jealously  embraced  the  panorama  of  his  native  city. 
His  look  travelled  over  the  outlines  and  the  contour 
of  monuments,  it  completed  a  delineation  as  exact  and 
minute  as  that  of  a  diagram,  while  his  enthusiasm 
livened  the  tints,  multiplied  and  chromatized  the 
nuances  of  this  familiar  architecture.    He  inhaled  with 


362  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

the  avidity  of  one  asphyxiated  and  restored  to  life  the 
briny  air,  the  aroma  of  the  open,  the  perfume  of  odor- 
iferous spices,  and  even  the  smell  of  fetid  organic 
matters  loaded  on  the  merchant  fleet.  The  haunting 
odor  of  the  hospital  dissolved  in  this  superior  aroma. 

Laurent  was  aware  of  diligent  crews,  discovered 
choral  manoeuvres  in  the  great  gestures  of  elevators 
and  cranes,  recorded  the  calls,  the  signals  and  the  or- 
ders. He  confused  in  an  immense  transport  of  affec- 
tion the  native  horizon  and  all  whose  sight  is  circum- 
scribed. A  profound  and  total  beatitude  invaded  him ; 
a  sort  of  Nirvana,  of  voluptuous  stupor.  While  he 
was  tasting  and  relishing  the  ambient  and  tangible 
reality,  he  no  longer  felt  himself  part  of  the  city. 
For  it  took  on  the  proportions  and  the  character  of  a 
sublime  work  of  art.  Would  he  never  again  participate 
in  creation,  or  had  he  been  dissolved  and  melted  into 
the  essences  and  the  principles  of  which  it  was  com- 
posed ? 

It  was  the  first  day  that  he  had  appreciated  it,  that 
he  had  thus  assimilated  it  through  all  his  pores.  In 
what  strange  life  was  he  living?  If  such  delights  as 
these  constituted  the  day  without  a  tomorrow,  he  would 
never  tire  of  the  eternity ! 

A  melody  from  the  carillon  preluded  the  stroke 
of  three  o'clock. 

Before  the  first  chime,  Paridael  felt  the  sensation 
of  cold  of  a  sleeper  who  awakes  in  the  open  air;  at 
the  same  time,  it  seemed  that  he  was  being  pulled 
fiercely  by  the  sleeve,  and  that  the  last  human  voices 
he  had  heard,  those  of  Bejard's  young  workers,  were 
hailing  him  from  the  far  distance.  He  turned  toward 
the  buildings  of  the  cartridge  plant.  There  was  no  liv- 
ing soul  beneath  the  buildings  and  the  river,  and  an- 


THE  CARTRIDGE  PLANT  363 

noyed  at  this  recall,  Laurent  turned  toward  the  road- 
stead. 

At  the  moment  when  the  clock  struck  the  first  stroke 
of  the  hour,  he  heard  a  series  of  little  detonations  go 
off  with  ever  increasing  rapidity  at  the  cartridge  plant, 
and  as  he  gave  up  trying  to  count  them,  a  shock  plowed 
through  his  legs,  the  soil  bent  and  unbent  beneath  his 
feet  like  a  spring-board  and  threw  him,  with  an  in- 
voluntary force,  a  few  feet  away. 

A  thunder  comparable  to  that  of  all  the  cannons  in 
all  the  forts  united  in  a  single  battery  broke  his  iympa- 
num  and  made  the  blood  gush  from  his  ears.  At  the 
same  moment  a  part  of  the  cartridge  plant — alas,  the 
workrooms  of  the  children: — shook  and  was  rent 
asunder  like  a  house  of  cards,  and,  huddled  and  thrown 
together  in  a  white  spout,  leaped  and  liquified  toward 
heaven. 

It  mounted  in  a  single  jet,  quickly,  the  upright  stem 
of  a  vegetation,  and  at  the  tip  of  this  white,  cottony 
unending  stem,  there  formed  the  immense  bulbous 
mass  of  a  red  and  black  tulip  blowing,  like  the  fabu- 
lous aloe,  in  the  crash  of  lightning;  a  still  born  flower 
shedding  its  petals  in  ominous  fireworks. 

At  the  second  stroke  of  three,  during  the  thousandth 
of  a  second  in  which  this  pyrotechnic  flower  had  its 
life,  Laurent,  who  was  gazing  at  the  petals,  distin- 
guished arms,  legs,  trunks,  and  entire  human  silhou- 
ettes, gesticulating  horribly  like  disjointed  puppets. 
He  recalled  analogous  gestures  and  contortions  in  the 
canvases  of  visionary  painters,  evocators  or  scorcerers 
repairing  to  their  sabbaths.  And  these  parts  of  the 
red  and  black  tulip,  bloody  and  charred,  rained,  rained, 
rained  in  innumerable  ruins  to  the  accompaniment  of 
untranslatable  outcries  and  the  continuous  cannonade. 


364  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

The  howls  of  human  beings  being  burnt  alive!  Nero- 
nian  pyrotechnics ! 

While  Laurent  was  thinking  that  he  had  already 
heard  these  voices,  a  few  lumps  and  a  hail  of  shot 
tumbled  down  about  him,  and  he  had  a  hurried  vision 
of  a  trunk  to  which  a  bit  of  chest  was  still  hanging, 
of  a  child's  foot  still  lodged  in  its  little  boot,  of  a  mus- 
cular leg  breeched  in  velveteen,  and  he  remembered 
the  curve  of  that  body,  the  rumple  of  the  breeches,  the 
sprightly  noise  of  the  boots  running  about  their  work, 
and  the  handsome  impudence  of  a  bright  face  beneath 
a  saucy  cap. 

"It's  I,  Frans  Verwinkel,  who  explode  the  fulminate ! 
You  should  see  me  at  work !  I  have  only  to  hit  it  thus, 
and  the  thing  is  over !" 

Perhaps  the  poor  thing  had  only  hit  it  thus.  ... 

No,  it  was  impossible!  Laurent  could  not  believe 
his  senses.  The  mirage  had  come  on  again,  stronger 
than  before.  To  convince  himself  of  his  own  state  of 
hallucination,  he  laughed  out  loud,  but  he  heard  him- 
self laugh,  and  the  nightmare  persisted. 

Toward  the  extremity  of  the  urban  belt,  where  less 
than  a  second  ago  there  had  been  a  block  of  houses  of 
the  village  of  Austruweel,  not  one  of  the  twenty  hovels 
remained  with  the  exception  of  the  tap-room  In  den 
Spanjaard,  contemporaneous  with  the  Spanish  domi- 
nation, and  flourishing  in  the  year  1560.  Through  the 
raging  gap  one  could  see  the  country,  the  grass-covered 
slopes  of  the  fortifications,  the  curtain  of  budding  trees, 
and  the  placid  church-steeple  of  Austruweel,  above 
which  the  lark  was  singing  its  first  song.  The  sentry 
box  of  a  sentinel  was  lying  at  the  bottom  of  a  ram- 
part. 

Capricious  as  lightning,  the  explosion  had  preserved 


THE  CARTRIDGE  PLANT  365 

some  shaky,  nearby  hovels  that  a  breath  could  have 
swept  away,  and  even  spared  a  part  of  the  cartridge 
plant,  while  it  had  overturned  and  pulverized  buildings 
several  kilometers  off,  reduced  to  jelly  torpedo-proof 
masonry,  broken  like  a  wisp  of  straw  the  piles  and  the 
joists  of  docks,  converted  iron  into  filings,  and  rum- 
pled like  a  piece  of  silk  the  galvanized  sheet-iron  roofs 
of  the  warehouses. 

Ruins  leaned  in  an  unstable  state  of  equilibrium  and 
slashed  themselves  into  fabulous  profiles  and  unheard 
of  styles  of  architecture. 

Before  the  third  stroke  of  three  rang  out,  from  be- 
hind the  cartridge  plant,  hissing  and  howling  like  a 
host  of  snakes,  there  surged  a  flaming  geyser  whose 
waves  rolled  a  surface  of  ten  hectares ;  all  the  stock  of 
petroleum,  fifty  thousand  barrels,  burst  into  flame,  like 
a  simple  match. 

And  such  was  the  progress  of  the  conflagration,  such 
was  the  fury  of  this  incendiary  tide  that  it  seemed 
about  to  submerge  the  metropolis  and  swallow  its  river 
at  one  gulp. 

Through  an  illusion  of  perspective,  the  enormous  red 
tongues,  immoderately  elongated,  all  darting  in  the 
same  direction,  were  licking  the  buttresses  of  the  ca- 
thedral. In  spite  of  the  broad  daylight,  the  towering 
pile  reflected  a  sunset.  And  the  ships  in  the  basins, 
alternately  masked  and  uncovered  as  the  flaming  waves 
scattered  away  from  them  or  drew  near  to  them, 
seemed  the  playtoys  of  these  devouring  billows,  to 
pitch  upon  an  ocean  in  eruption. 

The  apocalyptic  splendor  of  the  spectacle  ended  by 
drowning  Laurent's  horror  and  pity  in  a  monstrous 
trance.  But  the  bitumen  and  sulpher  were  not  rain- 
ing from  the  skies.    Never  had  so  pure  and  so  sweet 


366  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

an  ether  filled  space,  never  had  so  blue  and  caressing  a 
sky  enticed  mortals.  Contrary  to  prophecy,  the  stars 
were  not  dashing  to  pieces,  the  spring  day  continued  to 
smile  indifferently,  and  the  thick,  black  smoke,  unfurl- 
ing its  hurried  scrolls  from  far  off,  the  black  foam  of 
this  tempest  of  flames,  did  not  succeed  in  troubling  the 
unruffled  and  serene  majesty  of  the  sun. 

However,  after  the  helplessness  and  consternation 
of  the  first  moment,  a  wave  of  terror  swept  the  popu- 
lation of  the  southern  districts  and  sent  flying  from 
their  homes,  under  a  hail  of  plaster  and  breaking  glass, 
the  inhabitants  of  quarters  furthest  distant  from  the 
cartridge  plants.  Workmen  who  had  escaped  from 
death;  calkers,  dockers,  sorters,  women  with  their 
babies  on  their  arms,  young  girls  almost  nude,  sailors, 
customs-officials,  lock-keepers,  haggard,  horribly  out 
of  breath,  their  eyes  more  distended  than  by  bella- 
donna, their  mouths  cloven  and  widened  by  a  pro- 
longed cry,  their  hair  and  clothing  burned,  sometimes 
even  their  flesh,  living  torches  whose  speed  was 
stimulated  by  the  race  crowded  to  the  banks  of 
the  river  and  even  tried  to  throw  themselves  into  the 
Scheldt. 

One  of  these  fugitives  ran  against  Laurent  and  al- 
most knocked  him  over.  Laurent  recognized  Bejard, 
and,  torn  sharply  out  of  his  trance,  his  hate  restoring 
him  his  lucidity,  persuaded  that  this  extermination  was 
the  work  of  his  enemy,  the  crown  of  his  iniquities,  he 
grappled  him  as  he  passed. 

In  this  hypercritical  moment,  he  retrieved  his  lost 
forces.  He  was  going  to  stick  to  his  word:  avenge 
Regina,  avenge  Antwerp,  avenge  the  emigrants  who 
had  deliberately  been  thrown  to  the  fishes,  avenge, 
finally,  the  children  in  the  cartridge  plant. 


THE    CARTRIDGE   PLANT  367 

Ah!  these,  then,  were  the  ends  for  which  destiny 
had  saved  him ! 

Bejard  fought,  yelled  for  help,  but  completely  occu- 
pied with  their  own  distress,  the  fugitives  pursued 
their  course  without  bothering  about  this  struggle. 

Laurent  overpowered  Bejard,  clasped  him  in  an  im- 
placable grip  like  that  of  a  bulldog's  jaws,  of  a  vulture's 
claw,  of  a  spider's  tentacle,  or  of  the  sucker  of  an 
octopus. 

Ah!  he  had  flattered  himself,  the  exactor,  the  ex- 
tortioner, the  dealer  in  souls,  that  he  would  survive 
this  hecatomb  of  children!  He  had  just  reached 
safety,  the  scourge  seemed  to  have  spared  him,  when 
one  more  violent  and  more  implacable  than  the  flames 
was  luckily  on  hand  to  supplement  their  blind  clemency 
and  restore  to  them  the  prey  which  they  had  allowed 
to  escape. 

As  implacable  as  death  itself,  a  final  justiciary,  Lau- 
rent dragged  his  culprit  back  to  the  Gehenna.  In  all 
Antwerp  he  was  the  only  person  who  cold-bloodedly 
was  going  back  to  this  hearth  of  horror.  He  intended 
to  stay  there  with  his  condemned  criminal.  The  idea 
of  death  had  no  terrors  for  him.  Had  he  not  felt  him- 
self go  off  deliciously  a  few  minutes  ago  ? 

Bejard,  guessing  the  horrible  purpose  of  his  execu- 
tioner, screamed,  bit,  used  all  his  strength,  despair  in- 
creasing his  normal  vigor  tenfold. 

From  time  to  time  he  put  up  such  resistance  that 
Laurent  could  not  succeed  in  advancing,  and  they 
fought  in  the  one  place.  But  the  advantage  always  re- 
mained with  Paridael  and  he  kept  victoriously  push- 
ing his  captive  before  him,  through  all,  over  the  slimy 
mass,  flabby,  charred  matter  in  which  one  could  hardly 
recognize  human  remains. 


368  THE  NEW  CARTHAGE 

He  even  jostled  the  wounded,  the  idea  of  vengeance 
made  him  deaf  to  their  death  rattle.  Cartridges  were 
constantly  exploding  beneath  his  feet,  shots  whistled 
in  his  ears,  he  could  have  thought  himself  upon  the 
battlefield  during  the  decisive  fusillade. 

The  heat  was  becoming  intolerable.  The  flaming 
naphtha  was  asphyxiating  him.  In  this  extremity  he 
addressed  but  one  prayer  to  God,  not  to  die  until  he 
had  killed  Bejard. 

God  granted  his  prayer. 

At  the  moment  when,  at  the  end  of  his  strength, 
Paridael  was  about  to  give  up  the  struggle,  what  re- 
mained of  the  cartridges  blew  up  in  a  mass,  in  one  su- 
preme explosion.  The  last  vestiges  of  the  Bejard  fac- 
tory leaped  into  the  air.  Another  red  and  black  tulip 
brightened  in  a  flash  of  light. 

Two  shades  tightly  entwined  fought  in  the  midst  of 
a  lake  of  fire. 


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